Misplace all your mistakes
by triptohere
Summary: Rachel and Kurt turn out to be surprisingly long term co-habiters. Rachel and Santana turn out to be surprisingly good friends. Rachel and Brody turn out to be 'Brody and Rachel', and that's what they are, now. And it turns out Rachel isn't very good at being perfectly fine, thank you.
1. Chapter 1

__**Author's note - This will probably be long, and slow. Fair warning.**

* * *

_Here's a story about everyone being fine._

_And by fine, I mean broadly satisfied with the general direction their life has taken._

_Happy-ish for eighty per cent of the time, shall we say. Sounds like a winning combination._

_Sounds like __enough__._

Rachel gnaws mindlessly at the end of her pencil for a moment, and lets her gaze drift to the margin, where she's drawn a series of cubes, and a slightly lopsided spiral, reaching for an unknown destination.

Eight per cent sounds a trifle high…

Kurt clatters something in the kitchen abruptly, and Rachel jumps, before deciding that she didn't just jump.

'Whose idea was it to balance Tupperware on top of the coffee machine?'

Rachel shrugs, unseen, and carefully rips the page from her notepad.

'I couldn't imagine. Certainly only the most forward thinking of individuals could hope to…'

There's a louder, more terminal sounding crash, and after a moment a head appears around her doorframe.

'Breakfast in the park?' Kurt queries brightly, innocence personified. 'I find minor disasters such as possibly broken coffee makers always easier to face on a full stomach.'

Rachel sighs, but then smiles, because for how long has she been waiting to say yes to suggestions like this?

Eighty per cent, she thinks.

'Why not? It looks lovely out there.'

Her hand strays towards the bin on the way out, but in the end the note (memo? Reminder?) makes its way to her back pocket, tightly folded.

* * *

Rachel stretches, and watches her own fingers, watches the way they flex and steeple together.

'I'm not even sure what I'm complaining about. I'm fine. Really. Brody is lovely, you've seen how pleasant he is, we never row because he's so _nice_. It's just… I don't know.'

Kurt rearranges his shirt sleeves for a moment, and then tips his sunglasses in her direction.

'If it is any comfort, I was not aware that you were complaining until just now. I thought you were listing Brody's good qualities, in an odd attempt to make me jealous of your thoroughly heterosexual relationship.'

Rachel snorts momentarily, and smacks Kurt on the leg, ignoring his yelp of outrage. A female jogger passes them, and musters the effort to roll her eyes at their antics. Rachel glares at her retreating back, and waits until she's disappeared into the throng of spring exercisers before speaking again.

'They are good qualities. He's consistently nice, talented without being an egomaniac, supportive, caring, attractive,…'

'Not asking you to marry him,' Kurt cuts in 'not abruptly deciding to join the army.'

Rachel looks at Kurt, stony faced, until Kurt raises both eyebrows in protest.

'Not so much taller than you that he risks suffering the Bends every time he leans over to kiss you, I mean _come on _Rachel. We go through this every time. Brody is a shorter, more suited to you, version of Finn. I've reconciled to this, you've reconciled to this, Brody, the poor boy, has accepted his fate of being Finn , case closed. Move on; by which I mean, continue being obnoxiously happy with Brody.

Rachel bites her lip, and lifts her feet from the ground, points her toes as if she's still twelve.

Twelve was good. She was certain, when she was twelve.

'Did you ever wonder whether you were with the right person, when you were with Blaine?'

Kurt sighs, and pokes an unyielding finger into her side, making Rachel squeal.

'Sometimes,' Kurt announces heavily, ignoring her completely, 'but that's human nature, I think. The grass is always greener. And now I miss him, and wonder. But I enjoy being single, so…'

He trails off, and looks momentarily forlorn.

'We're a bit young Rachel, to be counting the woes of our love lives, aren't we? Some may disagree, but I'd say we're still reasonably attractive. So have fun with the attractive Brody and his lovely chest. And stop it with all the 'what ifs' please, you're making me somber and it doesn't suit my expression.'

* * *

Rachel has very thorough sex with Brody that night.

She shies away from describing it as such, really, because thorough sounds oddly methodical and exhaustive, but she can't think of another word, because that's how it is, with Brody.

Every inch of her skin is mapped, and she feels worshiped and indulged, and really rather wonderful when she comes the first time, and the second.

By the third, she doesn't know why she isn't feeling _more_ than just satisfaction.

* * *

Rachel worries, in the morning.

Worries that she's over thinking this.

Worries that she's being ungrateful, somehow.

Worries that the piece of paper fell out of her jeans, and that Brody will find it.

* * *

Brody leaves just before lunch, kissing her at the threshold like they're teenagers. When she closes the door, Rachel can't quite meet Kurt's eye.

Kurt makes up for this by swooning across the length of their throw-covered sofa.

'Oh, he's so dreamy.'

Rachel snorts, and flicks a cushion at his feet.

'Acting skills suffer from lack of practice, you know.'

'Whatever sweetie, I'm glad you came to a decision.'

Kurt sits up, and tucks his feet together primly.

'I'm heading out, to buy myself some ear plugs. Or possibly to buy you a gag, I haven't decided yet.'

* * *

Her facebook is a mess.

Rachel knows she really needs to unfriend some people, because half of these faces she only recognises from the dry side of a slushie, but she's always had a thing about quantative data. Numbers-wise, it's impressive. So many friends for such a young life.

Qualitively speaking, Rachel's a bit lost. Kurt thinks Brody is 'wonderful', Mercedes and Tina hardly know him, the people at NYADA are too close (Rachel tries to avoid drama, these days), Quinn is… Quinn is in New Haven.

Part of Rachel thinks it is unfair to discuss Brody with Quinn; recently she's been trying to speak to Quinn in a language that doesn't revolve around how they relate to boys.

Santana is probably the worst possible person to speak to about this.

Rachel sighs, and reaches for her phone anyway.

* * *

'Wait, Tiny Dancer has stopped do it for you? What happened, you've decided that you no longer find attractiveness attractive?'

Santana is the worst possible person to speak to about this. Rachel dumps a heap of sugar in her coffee, because this is an emergency. Santana, when she looks back at her, is licking foam off her spoon in a manner Rachel is certain must be illegal in several states. She averts her eyes.

'He's not stopped…'doing it' for me, as such, it's just all a bit…'

Rachel trails off, because Santana had snorted.

'Oh, I know that. Kurt rang me last night, and held his phone up to your wall, because he felt at least someone should be appreciating your audition for America's next top porn star.'

Rachel blushes hard, for abstract reasons not at all linked to the continued attention Santana is giving her spoon.

'Santana, stop that.' Rachel glares at her until the spoon gets dropped. 'The sex is fine, clearly. Relationships aren't just about sex, you know.'

The way Santana rolls her eyes, and then frowns hard reminds Rachel of McKinley.

'Thanks for that pearl of wisdom, Dr Phil. Can we just agree that the sex is pretty important? If this was just about friendship compatibility, you'd be shagging Kurt. Or be long distancing scissoring Tina. These concepts are weirding me out.'

Rachel doesn't know why everyone she asks suddenly seems so Team Brody, but there it is.

'I'm sorry to have taken up your valuable time. I was just wondering whether relationships are supposed to be about settling for compromise; however you've made your views clear. It was nice to see you Santana.'

She's leaving half a coffee behind, but if Santana thinks she's still stuck in junior year, she can damn well exercise her right to storm out.

* * *

Kurt will never admit this to anyone, ever.

NYADA would have been a mistake, born out of an age old desire to best Rachel.

The fashion business, however… this could be his thing. This is fun even when he isn't trying to prove a point or confound critics and nay-sayers.

And, well, granted, at the moment he's doing a great deal of running around, chasing up requests, and generally being New York's most fashion forward dogs-body, but at least people don't tell him off for being true to himself when he turns up for work wearing a top with built in shoulder pads.

Just for the _silhouette_.

Kurt's been a runner here for nearly nine months, but for the last two months he's been invited along to a feature shoot, and he's certain that if he keeps pushing there'll be an opening, somewhere. There'll be another rung.

His phone chimes, and he reaches for it, making sure his face indicates that one of the sub-editors has a really vital job that only he can possibly attend to.

_Kurtsy, when you see Rachel please tell her that if she pulls the storming off crap on me again I'm revoking her visitation rights to Quinn. And be gentle with her tonight, I think she is actually having some kind of melt-down over Brody's never-ending supply of niceness and charm, the reasonable bastard._

Kurt sighs, and tucks his phone away. The beautiful man across the office catches his eye, and Kurt finds himself inventing wildly.

'Need to rearrange the stylist for the 'trending' shoot.'

Kurt receives a look that indicates that there wasn't really a question that needed answering, and he mentally slaps himself, before returning to his phone.

* * *

He buys vegan ice cream on the way back to the apartment that night.

Honestly? He does love Finn, in a manner that his younger self would have been mortified by. Finn's a friendly, good natured, and well-meaning class clown. Kurt had surprised himself with how quickly he'd started thinking of Finn as family. Finn is surprisingly _good_ at family.

He is, however, the worst version of himself when he is around Rachel. And Rachel, Kurt reflects, pressing the button for their floor with rising trepidation, is the worst version of herself when she is with Finn. And so the concept, just the concept of Rachel calling it off with the endlessly pleasant Brody to continue fixating of Finn is enough to make Kurt feel indescribably glum.

Never, in the whole history of break ups, has separate ways turned out so well, and now Rachel is wondering about whether she is with the right person, like her and Finn are an elastic band, no matter how far you stretch them, their return to each other is depressingly inevitable.

It's been nearly two and a half years since Finn had caught Rachel and Brody doing whatever it was on the floor (Rachel maintains that it was just some light 'canoodling', however much Finn reacted down the phone at him. Kurt had washed the floor the day afterwards, just in case.)

He remembers that date quite specifically, because Rachel was not understated in her response, cycling through regretful, to mournful, to outraged at Finn's over reaction, to drunk, often in the space of half an hour. And Kurt had been feeling similar, at the time, so they'd made quite a pair.

But Rachel had managed to pull herself together after a particularly long girl's weekend with Santana and Quinn, and had emerged the other side, unscathed.

(Kurt remembers how Quinn had turned up with an overnight bag and a determined expression, like all the pent-up inner bitch which she'd kept so well under-wraps recently was finally about to be unleashed for a good cause. That Finn was in her sights and she was not going to leave their apartment until Rachel had washed her hands of him.)

Brody and Rachel became a 'thing' shortly afterwards.

Kurt sleeping with a pillow over his head became a thing shortly after that.

* * *

He finds Rachel wrapped in a blanket, apparently half-way through what looks like a Band of Brothers marathon, to Kurt's mounting horror.

'Rachel…have you lost your mind?'

Rachel snivels once, and reaches a hand out to grasp in his direction without removing her gaze from the screen.

'Kurt! They keep dying so heroically…'

Kurt blinks at her for several moments before abruptly reaching down and yanking the relevant plug from the wall. The TV whines in protest as it dies.

'Rachel, honey. Eat some icecream and think about baby animals, I'm going to change, and then we're having this out.'

* * *

They're on to garlic bread by the time Kurt is bold enough to approach the crux of the matter.

'Please believe me Rachel, you are not going to forgive yourself if you ditch Brody because of some delusion of a 'perfect' relationship. They do not exist.'

Rachel glances at him, and then stares furiously at the empty wine bottle, as if it too is trying to betray her.

'I am not delusional Kurt, I'm just very aware that the Brody is not the love of my life.'

Kurt throws his hands up in the air with such violence he nearly throws himself off the bar stool he's perched upon.

'You've been with him over two years and the sex is still excellent, from what I'm forced to listen to! Two years without a blip. How can you possibly be considering throwing it away?'

'Because I'm fairly sure relationships are supposed to be more than nice! That's what I'm supposed to settle for, is it? Nice? I don't understand why you are all so… Why aren't I allowed to want a big, epic romance, with disasters and mistakes and attempts at re-writing history and forgiveness and things that people actually tell stories about? Why am I stuck with nice?'

She looks like she's on the verge of tears, but Kurt's close to an aneurysm induced by second hand stupidity, so whatever.

'We do not live in fairy tales, Rachel.'

Rachel reaches for her glass, and grips the stem hard, clearly fighting for some kind of control. She takes a juddering breath, and then mumbles to herself, 'No, so clearly I'm expected to live in beige.'

She's being such an adamant little fool that Kurt can't help but sigh a little, and reach for her hand across their table, in order to try and take the sting out of his next announcement.

'Rachel, seriously… seeing as I am family to the boy, if you ditch Brody in order to try it again with Finn I will not stand in your way. But you should know that if Santana and Quinn get wind of this you will probably be the victim of a very abrupt body snatching, and you'll no doubt wake up in some dark corner of Europe with all your papers destroyed, to endure a life of responding to whatever fake name Santana will have dreamt up for you. Probably Yappity von Moron, or something.'

Rachel stares at him for the longest moment with an unreadable expression on her face, which gives Kurt the opportunity to warm to the theme.

'And the three of you will live as sisters in a dilapidated old cottage, living off the land and Santana's mafia connections, and Quinn will be the most terrifying milkmaid known to man, and you will have to learn how to make chutney and jam from all of the fruit harvested from your orchard. And though that lifestyle would be charming for a while, eventually it will begin to grate.'

Rachel holds up a hand, clearly convinced by his tale.

'Why do you think I'd try and get back with Finn?'

Kurt tries valiantly to switch mental gear smoothly.

'Because… nobody talks about re-writing history and forgiveness unless they have someone in mind? Unless you are talking about Jesse?'

Rachel looks momentarily outraged.

'What? No, you can't possibly...' Rachel splutters for a moment, and then rests a hand on her chest. 'This is about no one, Kurt, except me and Brody. Certainly not Finn. It's…I'm not uneasy with Brody because I'm thinking of someone else. I'm uneasy because I am.'

Yeaah, he's not really buying that, despite the excellent delivery. Rachel's a better actor, these days, but ad-libbing clearly isn't her thing.

'Oh, okay, so you're considering breaking it off with Brody because of an abstract, imaginary relationship with someone you haven't meant yet? You'll understand if I find that slightly challenging to believe.'

Rachel looks away from him, and Kurt can tell she's biting the inside of her cheek slightly.

'Finn and I were horrendous together. You must think me completely stupid if you think I'd go back.'

And, well, that was slightly more convincing, but this still isn't adding up. However before he can interrogate further, Rachel's phone lights up by her elbow, and she reaches for it, clearly relieved for the distraction.

'It's, ummm, Brody is coming over, and plans on picking up Thai food. Do we want anything?'

Kurt looks down at the remains of the impromptu picnic of snack food they've already eaten.

'Please let him know I've already dined on garlic bread, cheese, crisps, two éclairs and some ice cream. But if he wants to bring over some pad thai I'll probably be able to force it down.'

Rachel is frowning hard at her screen, and after a moment Kurt rolls his eyes and taps her shin under the table.

'Please don't ditch Brody for Mr Hypothetical right now, honey. He's offering to buy us food.'

Rachel blinks at him for a second, before smiling once and slipping off her stool.

'I'll call him. Can you clear some of this up please, so he doesn't think we've been attacked by ravenous hordes.'

As Kurt is organizing some of the mess, two minutes later, he hears Rachel laugh big on the phone, and grins to himself.

Honestly, such a fuss over nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two. Hope you enjoy. Thank you for your thoughts on chapter one!**

* * *

We like to party. We like, we like to party. D-I-S-C-O. EVERYBODY DANCE NOW.

This is how Brittany has titled the Facebook event she's posted and invited what looks like every New Directions club member ever to.

Santana grins to herself, and scrolls mindlessly through the list of invitees, amazed that they let some of these people in. Some of these faces she doesn't even recognize.

It's coming up to Brit's twenty first. This invite is the Ohio leg of a two week long extravaganza. Brittany had called her a couple of days ago to explain that there was to be a past, present, and future theme, and that Santana was expected to attend all three.

Brittany's past was New Directions and Lima. Present is a dance school on the outer edge of San Francisco, where Brittany spends her time surrounded by other freakishly long limbed flexible people. Santana's been to visit a couple of times, and had returned each time with a new determination to re-start some kind of Cheerio's training, because if she can't compete height-wise she can at least make sure she's just as athletic.

She and Brittany… are on a break. A pause, she guesses. Because it is fucking far from one side of the country to another, and they're both crazy busy, and if they're honest with themselves, they both need human affection and some kind of body to press into just to stay sane.

Rachel, when she's being an obnoxious harpy, calls it mutual and consenting sleeping around. Santana likes to respond with the phrase 'just keeping my hand in' with accompanying gestures, mainly because it makes Rachel blush purple and Kurt nearly pass out.

Such a pair of prudes, those two.

So yeah, maybe it is mutual and consenting sleeping around, but it is working. They're happy, and when the stars align or the dance school opens a branch in New York, they'll be even happier. But they're doing okay right now.

(Not to mention the sex when they do meet up is pretty out of this world.)

Santana double clicks on Brittany's face, because Facebook is telling her that Brit is online, and the little request box goes green, before enlarging.

'Hey B, how's it… what do you have on your face?'

Brittany squints at her a little, before grinning.

'Hey! You look hot. Umm, they are tiger strips, and this is a mustache. Don't worry, they're not real.'

Santana resists the temptation to touch the screen, because this one is already covered in finger prints. (The angle of the camera means Brittany can't see if Santana is feeling like a hopeless sap, and just wants to touch her.)

'Okay' she drawls, hiding a grin, 'new question; why do you have that on your face?'

Brittany leans out of the screen for a moment, reaching for something that turns out to be a banana. She points it at Santana before explaining.

'Oh, well, one of the kids at the Wiggle club said she thought my dad must be Tigger. So, you know, I figured I'd see if I could rock that look.'

Santana glances at the clock. It is early evening. Wiggle club finishes at half ten.

'And you've been rocking it for the rest of the day?'

Brittany has a mouthful of banana, so just nods and shrugs, sat back in her chair, looking perfectly content. Santana attempts to fill in the blanks.

'And the mustache because… tigers look better with mustaches?'

Brittany swallows. 'Uh huh. And also, a day without a fake mustache is a wasted day, in my opinion.'

Santana smirks, until Brittany blushes, and looks away. 'Have you seen the guest list? I included everyone because glee club was always the most fun when you were there rolling your eyes about the people you didn't like.'

Santana actually caves this time, and slides a finger down the screen, just over Brittany's cheek, unseen.

'Looks good B, though I won't be upset if some of those losers don't show. Have you double-checked with the important people?'

'Yeaah, worked out perfectly. Kurt and Rachel were visiting that weekend anyway, that's why I picked it. Quinn says she can rearrange some stuff. 'Cedes has said yes, and the rest of them haven't got a reason not to come, as far as I can figure.'

Brittany grins at her, with a smile that reminds Santana of so _much_ that she can't really help the fact that she's suddenly really distracted.

'B. You haven't checked with me yet?'

Brittany waggles a hand easily.

'Duh. You'll be where-ever I tell you to be, okay? Ain't no river wet enough, that stuff.'

Those aren't the words, but that's not the point. Santana smiles, and murmurs low, soft and easy.

'Can't wait B.'

Brittany bites her lip, and leans into the camera conspiratorially.

'Did you spot that I'm not wearing anything other than this t-shirt right now? Is that why your voice has done that thing?'

'Just a t-shirt, a mustache, and some tiger stripes?' Santana corrects, once again amazed that she can be both aroused _and_ on the verge of laughter. 'It's pretty sexy.'

Brittany nods firmly, while reaching for hems.

'We should totally do something about that.'

* * *

Quinn clicks accept without even thinking about it. She then checks her planner and discovers that there will be one seminar meeting with her tutor that she'll have to re-arrange, but she's confident that she must have accumulated enough credit for it to be allowed.

She isn't even sure why the guest list makes her throat tighten, but there it is. This is a lot of past to be confronted with at once, she supposes. Some of these people will remember a version of her that Quinn has quietly and calmly been trying to eradicate, since she arrived at Yale.

Brittany had included an addendum to Quinn's invite, that she could bring a guest if she wanted, as long as the guest didn't mind doing a quick audition for the glee club on Brittany's doorstep, so they could become an honorary member of New Directions and thus not break any of the requirements for entry.

Quinn had planned to decline the offer politely, but finds herself reconsidering, turning it over and over in her mind. It would be satisfying, she imagines, to bring along someone presentable and friendly, just to demonstrate to everyone that, look, she did manage to turn into a fully functioning adult, and can attract normal people to her, as both friends and lovers.

She then realizes that her current thought-process is not one that any normal, fully functioning adult would have, and so scraps the whole idea, berating herself silently.

She should want to bring a friend because they're a friend, not because of what it says about her…

Thankfully, her phone lights up, dragging Quinn back to reality, and away from another downward spiral of self-analysis and second guessing.

It's Rachel.

_Hi! I noticed you've said you're coming to Brittany's celebration. I'm planning on attending too! __ This is exciting, it will be great to have a moment to catch/ share horror stories from final year. When will you be travelling? X_

Quinn bites her lip, and then shuts her laptop with a sigh, stretching out on the bed to apply herself to the time consuming challenging of replying to Rachel.

* * *

Brody doesn't mean to bounce when he walks, it just seems to happen when he's in a good mood. Which he is. Particularly today.

Flowers; he decides. He'll buy flowers.

Roses are something of a cliché, lilies remind him of death, and tulips are beautiful. Case closed.

He buys the biggest bunch he can carry, and winks at the girl as he pays, because why not spread the love? She feels appreciated, he feels magnanimous in his generosity with affection, everyone's a winner.

Rachel's bound to be pleased for him. He imagines her face, her reaction when he tells her. Bouncing up and down is certain to be involved. Squealing and hand clapping is a strong possibility.

On the subway, inside his head, he rehearses how to tell her.

_So…you know how I'm always auditioning for shows…_

_Guess who's actually employed…?_

_Santana is going to be so pissed that her prediction of my career as a male gigolo has been postponed…_

Too soon, the moment has arrived, and he's faced with his girlfriend, who is surrounded by baking paraphernalia.

'Hey! You are just in time to try pecan and coffee vegan cupcakes, and I want an honest critique this time, none of your usual _everything tastes delicious_ tricks, because last time they really didn't and Kurt nearly….flowers? Why are you carrying so many flowers?'

Brody places them on the kitchen table and walks over to Rachel until she's pressed between him and the kitchen counter. When he kissed her she tastes like coffee icing. She grins shyly at him when they break.

'Ummm, hello? Did I stumble upon your favorite cupcake flavor?'

Brody reaches up to brush some stray flour from Rachel's cheek, before kissing her again.

'No, although they smell amazing. I'm just hyper-aware today of how lucky I am. And you're a big part of that.'

Rachel looks at the flowers over his shoulder, and tucks her arms into her chest, fingers pressed to lips.

'Okay. That figures, I suppose.'

Brody grins at her (and really, how can he not?) and leans down to bite gently on her earlobe.

'And the other part, well… I went to a call back today…'

* * *

Brody's got a job.

Brody's got a job on Broadway.

Brody's on Broadway.

Rachel thinks she reacts appropriately, but she cannot be sure. She pretty much went for default shocked/amazed/delighted multiplied to the nth degree, and it seems to pass muster.

The rest of the afternoon is spent listening to Brody ring various family members, and fill them in on the news.

Yes, they are going to pay him real money.

Initially only a member of the chorus, but he's sure that understudy opportunities will come up.

Starting in two weeks. Replacing a cast member who is relocating.

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Yes, it is a real show.

Yes, he's told Rachel. She's here now, actually.

Brody glances up at her from the sofa at that point, but Rachel smiles apologetically and shakes her head, because she doesn't really want to be embroiled in a conversation with Brody's grandma at that point. Brody just winks, before continuing the sentence without a break.

'But she's heading off to a dance class now, so you'll have to speak to her another time. She sends her love.'

Rachel has met Brody's grandma once, last Christmas. She remembers a vaguely confused but kindly old lady with a halo of white hair. She'd taken Rachel aside at one point and made her promise that she and Brody would always make each other happy. It had seemed like a big request, even when surrounded by Christmas lights.

Abruptly, Rachel rises from the sofa, and heads to her room, passing Brody close to kiss the top of his head as he talks.

She doesn't need to go the dance class. But she's going anyway.

* * *

After a blank subway ride, she remembers that she hates dance class more than enough to rule out any voluntary extra practice, and detours into a coffee house instead.

She thinks about ringing Kurt, and then rings Quinn instead.

'Hey, everything okay?'

Quinn sounds worried, and Rachel chides herself for ringing about something this trivial. She and Quinn don't do phone calls. They do texts and emails and smiley faces and occasional day trips; phone calls are for immediate problems.

'Yes, hello, sorry, no emergencies, I just needed to speak to someone, and Kurt's at work and Santana isn't picking up.'

Rachel has no idea why she lies, and panics briefly that Quinn will know, somehow, that Rachel hasn't even tried to speak to Santana. Quinn voice sounds unsure for a moment, but then she seems to commit to the conversation.

'I, okay, let me just… okay, I can talk now.'

Dammit, Rachel should have started the conversation with a query about whether Quinn was free for a conversation. She tries to make up, belatedly.

'Oh gosh, I'm not interrupting anything am I?'

Maybe Quinn was with friends. Or in the library, frantically finishing an essay. Or in the changing rooms of the gym. Or on a date!

Quinn laughs a little, though Rachel doesn't remember saying anything funny.

'No, I was just in the kitchen, and the people I share with are crazy nosy, as you know. I'm back in my room now. I can talk.'

Rachel knows she should get to the point, having interrupted Quinn's kitchen time, but can't seem to keep control of her tongue, which flies off in its own direction.

'You didn't leave the gas on or anything did you? Because I heard of someone who got distracted and left the hob on, _forgetting _that they'd put an unopened can of soup on top of it, and an hour later the tin had absorbed so much heat it just _exploded_ and they'd painted the entire ceiling in minestrone, plus not to mention the dangers of flying soup tin shrapnel, and I would hate for someone to be maimed just because I'd distracted you by ringing up out of the blue.'

There's a brief pause in which Quinn appears to absorb this, and then she replies.

'I haven't left the oven on. And I don't like minestrone, so I think we're safe there.'

Rachel plunges on. 'I believe it would be a hazard no matter the type of soup Quinn, so do you need to go and check everything is off? I'm fine here, I can just wait. Or you could ring me back when all appliances have been unplugged.'

Quinn actually laughs at her this time, which is fine, Rachel can completely understand the impulse.

'Rachel, seriously. I was making a sandwich. Peril and risk of death is not involved. So do you want to tell me what has made you flip out like this? Or shall I run you through the fire alarm routine of my dorm until you're calmer?'

With an almighty effort, Rachel forces herself back on track.

'Brody has been offered a job. A chorus part on Broadway. How to Be Successful. He told me about an hour ago.'

There's a pause, and Rachel finds herself longing for Skype, because she wants to see, see how Quinn reacts rather than just hearing the edited version down her phone.

'That's…wow. Pass on my congratulations to him. He must be delighted.'

'Yeah… yeah' Rachel mumbles, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the opposite chair leg 'He bought over a big bunch of flowers for me. He's still in the apartment.'

Quinn clicks her tongue at her, and breathes 'Why aren't you with him?'

Rachel eyes her gym bag mournfully. 'I have dance class.'

There's a moment in which they both seem to consider this blatant lie, and Rachel takes a sip of too hot coffee, penitent.

'Rach…he's a year above you. He's been solid auditioning for the last six months, while you've been finishing your studies. It was always a possibility that he was going to get a role before you.'

Her tongue is burnt, her throat feels scalded. She tries to speak without wincing. 'I know. I'm happy for him. He'll be great, I know. He's great at everything.'

Quinn doesn't speak for a moment, and there's a background noise that makes Rachel think she must have just changed position. Maybe she's sat down. Maybe she's lying on her bed.

'And, this doesn't mean that you won't also be great.'

Rachel clears her throat, hesitant in case Quinn calls her ridiculous.

'It's just… approximately one in fifty of NYADA graduates make it on to Broadway. One in fifty. And so, the odds of both of us… I mean statistically…,'

Quinn cuts across her. 'You are not a statistic Rachel. You're phenomenally talented. Maths has nothing to do with it.'

Rachel tries to wrap herself in Quinn's words, tries to protect herself from reality.

'That's, I mean, there are lots of talented people here Quinn, and comparatively few places that we're all fighting for, and it's just a mountain of rejections to wade through, really. And some of these people can do everything, Quinn, I mean, it's insane, some of these girls.'

Quinn sighs, seemingly at her.

'You are still studying Rachel. You've had roles in the last two big productions NYADA have put on, and you were amazing in them, remember? The fact that Brody's gotten lucky has no bearing on your future success, because you do not need luck, okay?'

Rachel feels guilty, basking in Quinn's praise like this, but does so anyway.

'Do you think? I just… I feel bad, because he's so happy, and expects me to be happy, like any normal person would be, and I just can't help but think; one less chance for me.'

Quinn snorts at her, and breaks whatever mood there had been, and Rachel can breathe a little easier.

'Correct me if I'm wrong Rachel, but you aren't really cut out for male lead parts. You and Brody are not in direct competition, you know?'

Rachel grins a little at that, despite herself.

'Quinn! I know that, I just, I don't know.'

Rachel can tell Quinn's smiling from the way she answers.

'Nobody knows Rachel, because you are freaking out over nothing. This will probably be useful, actually. You'll go to cast parties on Brody's arm and mingle, look fabulous, make some contacts, that sort of thing. Whatever you Broadway types do.'

Rachel blows on her coffee and sips more carefully this time, casting eyes around the room.

'I'm not a Broadway type yet Quinn. But you're probably right. About it being good.'

Quinn laughs a little, and sounds as pleased with herself as she always does when Rachel finally concedes that Quinn is the saner of the two of them.

'I am always right Rachel. Yale, remember? And you've been an obnoxious Broadway type since the age of three, let's not kid ourselves here.'

Rachel's outraged, the type that makes her splutter even as she grins wide.

'Quinn! I'm wildly offended by that, I have to inform you.'

Quinn just giggles at her, and Rachel finds herself biting her lip in response.

'Whatever Rachel. Did you decide what you guys are doing for Brittany's party? Tell me quickly, as I'll have to go and check my unattended sandwich hasn't been stolen soon. Stolen or exploded.'

Rachel can tell already she's never going to hear the end of the minestrone warning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello. Thank you for reading, following, and reviewing. I should mention, the title is taken from a song called 'All Time Love', by Will Young. **

* * *

Brittany needs to find another punch bowl.

Artie's learned a lot while he's been at college, and item number one seems to be 'bazillions of cocktails that make a house party bounce.'

Problem number one is that Brittany is out of appropriate vessels.

'Artie…seriously, unless I go release Brenda the fish into the wild I have no more bowls, and like, Brenda has been in our family for a long time now and will not take kindly to a life on the mean streets of Lima.'

Artie seems to eye Brenda for a long moment, but Brenda gives as good as she gets until Artie is forced to break eye contact first.

'She could live in the sink for the night…?'

'Oh sure Artie' Brittany puts both hands on her hips, outraged, 'And you could live in… in the wheelbarrow for the night, so we can use your chair for a waitress trolley, huh? I mean, Brenda is living with a disability Artie, just like you, and she needs her bowl, okay? You disabiliphobic monster.'

Artie holds up both hands in protest.

'Okay, okay, jeez. Though for the record, being unable to breathe without water isn't a disability, if you're a fish, Brittany.'

'Yeah? Tell that to the mud skippers, yeah? Those privileged, entitled, guppies with their bad attitude and little feet.'

Artie looks to be winding up for a serious debate, but Santana enters the kitchen at that point, clearly sensing bad vibes.

'Britt, how do we get your dad's speakers to really blast? Because right now I think me and Puck have only managed to access a tenth of their capacity.'

Artie wheels through before Brittany can answer.

'I'll go have a look; Santana, check the cupboards again for pans, okay?'

Santana watches him go for a second, and then glances at Brittany.

'What's gotten into him?'

'Artie doesn't think that fish are deserving of basic human rights.'

Santana rattles the cutlery drawer rooting for something, and so answers absentmindedly.

'What a jerk… Do you guys own a ladle for all this punch? Also, have you heard from Quinn? I tried her a while back but she didn't pick up.'

Brittany shakes her head, silently relieved Santana didn't pay too much attention to her previous statement (she'd just reviewed it, and it didn't even make much sense to her) and reaches past Santana to bring the ladle to her attention.

'Just here. Quinn said she wouldn't be able to help with the warm up, because big sis is in town and her mom wants to play happy families. She'll be over for the _party_ party though. Just not the pre party.'

Santana nods, and eyes the five bowls of punch on the kitchen table.

'She bringing anyone?'

Brittany shrugs. Santana shakes her head wearily.

'Girl needs to get laid. Seriously… is Lady Lips coming? And do you know what is in these drinks, or are we trusting Artie?'

'They're fine. I watched. No bleach in any of them. And San, no match-making, okay? You can't fix everyone.'

Santana extends the ladle to the bowl nearest to her, and then retreats, wary.

'I just think she'd be happier if she uncrossed her legs at some point in her life.'

'How do you know she hasn't?'

'She'd tell me.'

Brittany bites her lip at that point, because even though she's pretty sure that Santana is one of Quinn's closest friends, Brittany doesn't think Quinn would even tell the mirror about any romance in her life unless it was super serious and they were getting married. She lets it slide, however, because the buzzer sounds.

'People, Santana! Quick, help me with my outfit.'

* * *

Brody has met Brittany a couple of times, and has heard a lot more about her from various anecdotes. He likes to think that the slightly contrasting descriptions offered by Santana, Rachel and Kurt have given him an accurate, almost 3D understanding of her character.

He is, however, unprepared for the fact that she is dressed as a tiger.

He can feel Rachel tense beside him.

'Brittany! Happy Birthday – you look amazing! You… its… it isn't meant to be a costume party, is it?'

Brittany shrugs, and reaches out to press Rachel into her side for what looks like a very fluffy hug. Rachel coughs a bit when she is released, and immediately checks how much fluff Brittany's left on her black top.

'No Rachel, it is only me. Unless people are really smart and read my mind. Anyway, hi! Rachel, you can go in. Brody, you need to sing something.'

Brody blinks. 'What?'

Brittany nods. 'Yeah, you have to audition. I mean, I know you're on Broadway now, so you'll probably be okay, but I can't just let anyone in, it'll be mayhem.'

Brody catches Rachel's eye for a moment, just over Brittany's shoulder, and then shrugs, filling his lungs.

* * *

'Who's that giving it some on the doorstep? Dude sounds like he's about to start harmonizing with himself.'

Santana reaches past Puck to turn the music down for a brief second, hears Brody's tone from the doorstep, and then yells through to the kitchen.

'Kurt! Your woman's here!'

Puck claps his hands together once, and makes for the front door, flipping Santana off when he catches her smirking at him. She'd been refraining from commenting on how excited Puck was at the prospect of seeing Rachel, because she is ultimately just as guilty of switching her attitude towards Rachel. But it is cute, nevertheless. And whatever, okay?

Santana grins again when she hears Rachel's squeals in response to however Puck's decided to greet her, and waltzes through the room, circumnavigating Zizes and Sugar with slight difficulty and an accompanying eyeroll.

Her phone's still got nothing from Quinn. Santana sighs, and glances at the clock for the hundredth time. If Mr and Mrs Showtune have made it, she really wants Quinn here to complete the set.

* * *

She's not nervous.

She's not.

It's just… she doesn't want to be early, because then she'll have to do extended polite conversation with whoever else is early, which is a Russian roulette she's not sure she is willing to risk.

And she certainly doesn't want to be late, particularly if Santana is going to start making a scene, because it'll mean that when Quinn does arrive, all eyes will be on her and she'll have to be the centre of attention for fifteen minutes while everyone interrogates her. And _looks_ at her.

Quinn is too old to be this paranoid about trivial things like arriving at a party.

She just wishes she could snap her fingers and be at the party, twenty minutes after her arrival.

Her cell beeps at her again, and this time its Rachel's icon that illuminates the screen.

Quinn sighs, and adjusts her blazer for the final time.

Okay. High school reunion.

* * *

Rachel is trying to remember that this isn't _her_ party. Brittany's birthday. Not hers.

But the fact remains that some of her very favorite people in the whole world are here, or are due to be here at any second. And the people that she doesn't really know, the ones who joined the club after she left for New York, are eyeing her life she's some kind of celebrity. She's trying to pretend it's really embarrassing.

It really isn't.

The only potential problem, that of Finn figuring out how to be normal around Brody, has already been nullified by Kurt, who stepped in and orchestrated a very civilized conversation while Rachel slipped off to circulate.

She's mainly circulating by the front door.

Rachel's been concentrating on being happy, since her stolen conversation with Quinn. Concentrating on being proud of Brody. Concentrating on eighty percent. It's a high number, all things considered.

So she wants to say thank you. And fill Quinn in on the situation as it is, regardless of whether or not she is actually interested.

Quinn's car pulled up three minutes ago. Rachel's on the verge of going to check on her when she sees blonde hair approaching from the glow provided by Brittany's porch light.

'Hi Quinn!' Too late, Rachel realizes that she's opened the door before Quinn has rang the buzzer, but no matter.

And then she realizes that she's pretty much just flung herself at Quinn, who seems to choose at the very last second to open her arms to Rachel, rather than fend Rachel off with her elbows.

'Oof… hello? Hi there.'

Rachel squeezes tight for a moment, (because what's the point of a hug if you can't commit to it?) and then leans back.

'Oh my gosh, I was worried that you weren't coming, Santana's getting all twitchy and territorial, can you please tell her she isn't allowed to scratch anyone, and you look amazing by the way, I love the jacket, can I try it on some time, although it does look great on you, so it'll look dreadful on me, we're pretty much polar opposites when it comes to clothes, really, and so, well, how are you? You look great.'

Quinn appears to take all of this in her stride.

'Thanks Rachel, you look great too. And you can't steal my jacket. Is Brittany around?'

* * *

Brody's going to have an excellent night, he knows.

Mainly because Rachel seems so happy, now that everyone who matters to her is here. Quinn gets dragged into the kitchen, looking gorgeous as she always does (seriously – why are all of Rachel's friends so attractive? It's insane, how attractive these girls are) and Brody can tell Rachel is one iota of joy away from jumping up and down, or bursting into song.

He slides a hand around Rachel's back as he greets Quinn, who says some very complimentary things to him about the Broadway gig. Rachel must have told her, which makes Brody feel doubly loved, because Rachel's proud of him, of course she told her friends.

'Thank you, it's nothing really. I'm very lucky. How are things with you? Still knocking them dead at Yale?'

Quinn is forced to break eye contact with him for a second, as Santana rounds the corner at something approaching light speed and collides with Quinn, wrapping her in a full body hug.

'Here's the Ice Queen! Bitch, I thought you were going to bail, where've you been? BRITTANY! QUINN'S HERE!'

Brody can hear yelps of joy from the other room, and knows Quinn's got about three seconds. Quinn seems to realize this too, and raises an eyebrow at him, over Santana's head.

'Trying to Brody, always trying.'

Brittany bounces in, and adds an extra layer of body to the hug behind Santana, and then Santana pulls Rachel in, as a couple of other girls Brody hardly knows plough in too, until Brody can hardly see Rachel, can just hear her laughter, nearly drowning out Quinn's protests that she can't breathe.

Like he says. It's going to be a good night. He grabs his bottle of beer, and leaves them to it.

* * *

A couple of hours later, and Rachel knows Santana is a bit drunk, because she's defaulted to her usual drunk speech that Rachel always seems to receive. Santana's propped herself up in the corner of the kitchen, all the better to deliver the message to Rachel.

'We were fucked up, I mean, me and Quinn, complete bitches to you, seriously, and also, like, _lies_, because you aren't ugly Rachel, I mean _jesus_, far from it, okay? Ask the Brodeo, because your clothes were hideous, but sex is for naked people, am I right, so, you know, fuck the clothes, if Brittany wasn't the hottest creature alive then you would be a contender, do you know what I'm saying?'

Rachel totally does. Santana thinks Rachel's hot, as she always does when she's had two drinks too many. Rachel knows she must be a bit drunk too, because her response is her usual drunk response.

'…Tana, you're like, amazingly attractive too, it's a complete travesty that we're too hot to be single, because our one night stand would be amazing, I would rock your world, okay, and… Quinn!'

Quinn's here. She's not exactly ugly, either.

'Hello you two, have you finished declaring your love for each other yet?'

Rachel can't help it, and collapses on Quinn's shoulder, giggling, while Santana tugs at Quinn's free arm.

'But I mean, come on Quinn, look at Berry these days, she's hotter than any hobbit, we must have been blind, Berry I'm so sorry that all of your insanely irritating personality quirks hid your innate hotness, because I would have at least been a lot more specific in my insults, and you'd have saved Quinn from having a massive complex over why Finn chucked her for you, because, what Quinn? You know this is true, what are you looking like that for?'

Quinn's shoulder smells really good. From this position Rachel can feel Quinn's answer as well as hear it.

'San, Brittany's looking for a dance partner in there, she's nearly worn Brody out.'

Santana says something in Spanish that's probably very rude, and then it's just the two of them, with Rachel still leaning heavily on Quinn. Rachel is struck by a desire to have Quinn hold her up, and maybe wrap an arm around her back. She tries to communicate this telepathically.

'Shall we maybe get you some water? We don't want a repeat of New Year's 2013, do we?'

Wow, telepathy clearly isn't her thing.

'Quinn, no, I'm fine, my alcohol tolerance is way higher now, thank you. Here, we should…'

Rachel's leading them out into the corridor, and then through the first door that she finds which doesn't have music thumping on the other side. This room contains, after a brief investigation in the dark, contains something soft to collapse on, and Rachel does so, grateful to get off her feet.

A light switch gets flicked on above her, and Rachel discovers she's collapsed onto the pile of coats left by party go-ers. There's space for two, surely?

'Quinn! Come and sit with me.'

Quinn squats opposite her, bouncing on her heels slightly.

'Uhh, what are you doing Rachel? Are you okay? Should I go get Brody?'

What? No. Making an effort, Rachel pulls herself together slightly.

'Nonono, I'm good, seriously, I'm fine, I just wanted to catch up with you somewhere quiet, can't talk in there.'

Quinn squints at her for a moment, and then rearranges herself, so she's sat, cross legged on the floor. Rachel copies, and then reclines on coats. Quinn watches her without speaking for a moment, and then smiles.

'Okay. What did you want to talk about?'

Crap. Rachel doesn't really know. She just wanted one to one time, she decides. Stalling, Rachel twists to her side to rummage through the pile of coats.

'Here! Can I… do you mind if I try it on? Promise not to steal it.'

Quinn eyes her blazer for a second, and flips a hand, casually. 'Sure Rachel, but there's no mirror in here that I can see…'

Oh, it smells like her. Rachel can't figure out what Quinn smells like, but this is definitely it. It's a good smell. Instinctively, she snuggles deeper, hands automatically going in pockets. The one on her left contains something that feels like a booklet, and she brings it out. It's wrapped.

'What…oh! You forgot one of Brittany's presents!'

Quinn is quiet for an awfully long moment, long enough for Rachel to investigate and realize that, no, the card says this isn't for Brittany.

'Umm. No, that was for you. But it's nothing really, you don't have to… I mean, it's no big deal.'

Rachel blinks curiously at Quinn.

'A present?'

Quinn's hand goes to the back of her head, and she rearranges her hair in a way that looks messy and perfect at the same time.

'I… guess? But hardly. But I mean, I think I forgot your birthday, so. And it_ is_ nothing, really.'

The nothing is tied with a bow. And Rachel's pretty certain that her birthday wasn't missed, there was a facebook message and a text and a card, which still hasn't left her window sill despite the fact that it is February. Rachel squashes the instinct to rip, because she's not nine, and glances up at Quinn.

'Can I open it? Please be aware that if you say no I'll almost certainly ignore you.'

Quinn nods once, and then studies her strap of her watch with an odd amount of focus, as though the sight of Rachel's wanton destruction of her careful wrapping causes pain.

_Breathe_. She attempts to be gentle, easing fingers underneath folds of paper. After the moment the paper falls apart, revealing… the two programmes from the two NYADA performances Rachel's been involved in. Rachel looks up at Quinn, uncertain.

If she didn't know that Quinn is never unsettled by anything, she'd say Quinn was blushing. Quinn laughs nervously, and reaches to take them from her.

'Yeah, not really a present for you, exactly. But… this'll sound crazy, I thought maybe you should sign them. So when you're famous and have left all of us behind, of course, I can put them on EBay, and buy myself a car.'

The words sound awkward, as though Quinn had rehearsed them but didn't quite decide on the perfect delivery. Rachel's… she doesn't even know what she's feeling, but it is a _lot _of it, whatever it is.

She hugs her. Quinn's warm in her arms, and Rachel's already thinking about what message to put with the signature.

'I'd never leave you behind, oh my gosh, what are you, crazy?'

Quinn's hands pat at her back, seemingly grateful that the gift was taken in the spirit it was intended.

'You see? Not a present, more a…vote of confidence.'

Rachel tips back on her heels, so she's right in front of her. Quinn glances once at her, and then it's back to the watch.

'Whenever you have time. And not right now, thank you, I don't want any miss-spellings due to drunkenness, it'll affect the value.'

Rachel laughs, and is on the verge of doing something, when she hears her name being yelled.

'Where's Berry?! I will not have the girls being beaten at SingStar or whatever the fuck that shit is by the boys, not at my B's party! Berry!'

Quinn snorts. 'Your cue, I believe.'

Rachel grins, and grabs Quinn's hand. 'Come on.'

* * *

Later. It's later.

Paaarrty. Woo!

Party rhymes with Artie, Rachel realizes abruptly. She sits on him in order to get close enough to pass this info on over the music.

'Artie! Your name. Rhymes with party! Isn't that amazing?'

Artie nods a few times, and then holds a hand up for a hi-five, which Rachel meets with a small 'yay!'

Artie's grinning at her. 'You enjoying the punch?'

'Yeeeeaaah, de-lish. This party's amazing, I know everyone, except the people who don't matter, but who cares about them?'

There's a hand on her shoulder. Rachel whips around, expecting Brody.

'Jesse! Oh my gosh, hi!'

* * *

Jesse's an ass, she remembers now why she didn't like him.

'So, this Brody guy seems nice and dull.'

She smacks him on the arm, and then clings to the door frame when the motion makes her wobble.

'There's nothing wrong with nice, Jesse, okay? Nice is good. Rather nice than whatever else is out there.'

Jesse rolls his eyes, and reaches a hand out to remove a drink from a boy who Rachel isn't sure she recognizes, and knocks it back without looking at him.

'Yes indeed, because god forbid you'd be with a man who is interesting. Is that your type then? Nice looking, friendly, well-meaning nobodies? No wonder you and I never made it.'

Rachel draws herself up to her full height, painfully aware that this only really enables her to glare at Jesse's shoulder. It gets the full brunt of it, regardless.

'Brody, my nobody, is about to start a run on Broadway, I'll have you know.'

The look Jesse gives her is what Rachel has been fearing.

'Excuse me…he's got on to Broadway? That's…oh dear Rachel. What ever are you going to do now?'

Rachel doesn't know what to say to that, and certainly doesn't know how to deal with the pity in Jesse's eyes. She glances across the room, and spots Brody deep in conversation with Sam. Brody seems to sense her gaze after a moment, and looks over to her, giving her a questioning thumbs up. Rachel returns this brightly, even as her guts churn. Jesse glances backwards to catch the interaction, and grins smugly down at her.

'Who'd have thought that he'd be the success story?'

Someone turns the lights off at that moment, and the speakers seem to find an extra setting to accompany the dance music that starts thumping. Rachel hits Jesse's arm again, and mutters a 'fuck you' that was almost certainly unheard.

She doesn't feel like dancing.

* * *

Brody's nudging at her. Quinn untangles herself from Mike's hold, and turns to him, plugging a finger in her ear and yelling over the music.

'Hey, what's up?'

'You seen Rachel?'

'No…have you looked everywhere?'

'What?'

Quinn jerks a finger upwards.

'She'll be catching up with someone, somewhere quiet.'

'What?'

Quinn mimes two hands talking, and Brody nods understandingly.

'She does like talking.'

'Yeah.'

Brody's a good dancer. Nothing like Mike, of course, but he's a fun guy. Seems like a good guy too. She likes him. Considering how close Rachel came to marrying Finn, Brody's a raging success.

After a song, Quinn mimes a drinking sign, and Brody nods, accepting Kurt's arm around his neck and what looks like most of his weight.

Quinn's not drunk, because that never seems to work out too well for her, but things are definitely a little easier. Jokes that would never normally make her laugh seem hilarious, for example. The kitchen lights make her blink a little, and the dregs of whatever the hell Artie put in those bowls look deeply unappetizing. She reaches for a tumbler, and runs the kitchen tap for cold water.

As she fills up, out of the kitchen window Quinn spots the back of someone, sat alone on the edge of Brittany's patio. Sat alone wearing _her _blazer.

* * *

'Hey thief.'

Rachel blinks at her, uncomprehending, until Quinn reaches out to tug at the collar slightly, rearranging so that it sits properly. She grins down at her, and then remembers that people who are having a good time at a party don't tend to sit by themselves in the cold, and so adjusts her face.

'Can I sit down?'

Rachel nods carefully, and shuffles up a bit, so that they're both perched on a wall slightly too small for purpose. The light in the kitchen is still on, but the sky is black, so Rachel's face is completely in shadow, and her breath fogs around her. Quinn leans into her for a moment, and then tips her head back to look at stars.

'Good singing earlier by the way, you swung it for the girls.'

Rachel laughs, and then looks down at her hands for a moment.

'My finest hour.'

Quinn follows her gaze, and when her eyes adjust, realizes what Rachel is holding.

'Rachel Berry… is that a cigarette you are holding?'

Rachel glances at her, and waggles it between her fingers, shrugging her shoulders.

'Noah made it for me. I heard that these ones are less toxic. I've got his lighter too, but I seem to be incapable of actually smoking it… is there some kind of specialist technique to getting these things going? Because I'm failing.'

Quinn plucks it out of her fingers, and tries to examine it in the weak light they've got out here.

'I hear these are bad for voices.'

Rachel probably rolled her eyes at Quinn, at that point.

'Thanks for the newsflash, Sherlock.'

Quinn puts the cigarette to her lips, and holds out her hand for the lighter. 'I don't smoke any more, but I'm pretty sure that the method never leaves you… there. Your first smoke. The bit that isn't on fire goes between your lips.'

Rachel appears to drag deep, judging from the way she drops the cigarette and tries to cough up her lungs, two seconds later. Quinn laughs, and pats her on the back a few times, until Rachel emerges, still gasping.

'Oh my god it's disgusting, what, why do people even do that?'

Quinn bends to retrieve the cigarette, and takes a drag on impulse. Her lungs are out of practice, and she ends up coughing in sympathy, before reaching her hand down to stub it out carefully on the wall beneath them.

'Not sure really. Because people are stupid? I should be asking you really, you're the one who is trying it for the first time?'

Rachel glances at her for a long moment, and Quinn shivers abruptly, as the cold begins to bite. Rachel looks away again.

'Have you ever just really wanted to do something you know you shouldn't?'

Quinn scratches at the back of her head, awkward for reasons she can't name. 'Well, yeah, there's a half-removed Ryan Seacrest tattoo on my back in testament to that.'

Rachel snorts, and then leans her head on Quinn's shoulder.

'Yes, I'd heard about that. Makes a sneaky cigarette seem level-headed thinking, if you don't mind me saying.'

Quinn doesn't really, just nods and lets the moment continue for a bit. Part of her considers putting an arm around Rachel's shoulders, but seeing as Rachel is already wearing Quinn's blazer, she figures that she's already doing enough to keep Rachel warm.

Rachel sighs after a minute, and Quinn's cold enough to ask.

'Is this about Brody and Broadway again? Because you know how I feel about this; namely, you're wrong. And I am right.'

Rachel re-arranges herself for a second, and Quinn finds herself looking at Rachel, Rachel's face now, not her profile. The faint light catches her, and she looks… Quinn doesn't know what emotion is on Rachel's face, but it makes her ache, somehow.

'What if it isn't about Brody and Broadway? What if it's just Brody? Brody and me?'

Quinn doesn't even know why she chooses to glance at Rachel's lips at that moment. She just does. And when she looks back into Rachel's eyes she knows what going to happen next. She might even be the one to lean first. She can't be sure.

They kiss.

They… they're kissing.

Part of Quinn notes that Rachel doesn't seem to taste of smoke. A smaller part of Quinn reminds her that she had also taken a drag of the cigarette, so they'll both taste of smoke. An even smaller part suggests that it really is cold out here now.

The rest of Quinn concentrates on the fact that she and Rachel are kissing. And this is okay.

It's… Quinn thinks Rachel tilts her head.

God, she's so…soft. Quinn lets her hand reach for, she doesn't know what, but it finds Rachel's hand, resting awkwardly between their two hips. Their fingers link, and knot, and Rachel sighs into her mouth, and somehow it makes Quinn kiss her harder.

Rachel's lips part, and Quinn is aware that hers have followed suit, and she could spend time like this she thinks. Kissing Rachel. Kissing Rachel's bottom lip, which is…made for kissing, and just seems right, to be out here, freezing her ass off, kissing Rachel Berry.

It's….good. Quinn feels like she's unfurling, somehow, as though she's the sail and Rachel's the wind and the change in speed is coming, is inevitable.

There's a sound. The door handle. Quinn twists away, and she's sure that Rachel's craned her head around too, just in time to see Brody emerge.

'Oh Christ, there you are, I was getting worried. Hey Quinn, _shit,_ Rachel, its freezing out here, what are you doing?'

Rachel stands next to her, leaving Quinn stumbling for first gear. 'Hi! Sorry, just needed some fresh air; you haven't been looking long, have you?'

Brody stretches out a hand, and Quinn watches as Rachel approaches him, takes his hand between both of hers. Brody makes an alarmed noise, and brings Rachel's hands up to his mouth to try and blow some warmth onto them.

'No, but maybe we should be leaving soon; your dads pretend they don't but they still stay up and worry about you.'

Rachel nods quickly. 'Okay, we should go. Now. We'll go now.'

Brody frowns for a moment at Rachel, and then glances at Quinn, who realizes that she is still sat on the wall like a moron.

'Are you coming in? Or staying out?'

Quinn doesn't really know if she manages sensible words. The next few moments involve Rachel saying goodbye to everyone, involve Quinn watching Rachel say goodbye to everyone, watching Rachel leave, watching the car disappear down the street.

She watches the party.

She decides to leave.

And fuck it if Rachel didn't end up stealing her blazer after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for reading. To the person that requested for things to not move too fast; fret not. :)**

* * *

Totally fine.

Totally normal to kiss friends.

Rite of passage. Like the cigarette. Nothing to be unduly concerned about. Part of the rich tapestry of life.

Rachel leans her head on the car window, and watches street lights flick past. Brody's humming the tune that they closed the door to, as he drives, bouncing his head along.

'You have awesome friends, by the way. I know I always end up saying this, but I'd not spoken to Sam and Artie much before, they're real good people. And Jesse, I know you think he's a bit of an asshole but I only saw the likeable side tonight.'

Rachel nods in agreement, and thinks about Quinn. It's a reasonable link. Brody was just talking about Rachel's friends. Quinn is her friend.

Rachel doesn't even think of anything in particular about Quinn, as they drive home, just has her face and shape and smile and movements, occupying all the space in her head that she usually uses for rational thought.

* * *

When they get to her bedroom Rachel pretty much just pounces on Brody.

'Whoa, hello; what's gotten into you, I… jesus, Rachel at least let me get my shoes off before you ravish me, you… have you been smoking?'

Guilty.

'Yes. One. I was curious. It was foul. Kiss me please.'

Brody eyes her for a moment, and then lifts off his shirt, before picking her up and placing her on the bed.

'Well, I'm not sure how I feel about kissing someone who tastes of smoke, surely I have the power of veto, or at least the power of mouthwash, huh?'

He's teasing her, she knows, but Rachel's suddenly full of a lot of unspecific anger, and pulls Brody down on top of her, kissing him hard and shifting a hand between their bodies to cup his crotch.

Brody pushes himself upward, away from her, and Rachel has to fight not to actually snap at him.

'Hey, are you okay? Because I know alcohol makes you horny but… this isn't normal.'

Acting. She's an actress. 'I'm fine, okay? It is so weird for me to want sex after a party?'

Brody winces at her, and then tips himself sideways.

'Well, no, but another time, huh babe? I'm tired, you're dads are like two doors away, and you know that all the Streisand posters creep me out.'

Rachel makes herself roll into his side, makes herself mumble _sure thing _into his lips, makes herself smile like everything is fine (everything _is_ fine), before standing on sore feet to head for the bathroom.

It's on her way back into bed that she spots that Quinn's jacket is on the floor. But at that point there is nothing she can do, except turn off the light.

* * *

Quinn isn't due to travel back to Yale for another three days.

Her sister is in town, you see. And so appropriately sister-y activities have to be completed, and reported back to their mother, so their mother can feel like the family unit still exists in one form or another.

She doesn't mind really. Quinn feels less of a failure, these days (Yale has brought her so much breathing space, on that front), and it was never Fran's fault, particularly, that she was the standard to which Quinn was held.

Quinn's working on not holding it against her. She's working on a lot of things, these days.

Fran is still blonde, but it's a darker blond now, the color Quinn's hair will go if she lets it grow out. And she's still slightly prettier, with a slightly smaller ass.

She didn't go to Yale though.

'So, how was the party? I didn't hear you get back last night; must have been a late one.'

Quinn cups her hands around her coffee mug, and blows softly to ward away non-existent steam.

'Fun. I had fun. Some of those people I hadn't seen in over a year, and it'd been ages since we were all in the same room. Did some dancing, you know. Party stuff.'

Fran frowns at her suddenly, and asks suspiciously 'Was Puck there?'

Jesus. One mistake. Quinn rolls her eyes, to a laugh from Fran.

'All of the club were there. San, Brit, Mike, Artie, Puck, Kurt and Mercedes, Tina, Finn, Rachel… you know. The set. And a bunch of people I didn't know. And I didn't sleep with Puckerman, thanks for your concern.'

Fran laughs again, and holds up her hands.

'Whoa, okay, sorry little L. Forgive me, he's just a name I remember, can't imagine why. So, all the people from your little loser club.'

It's said with a smile, and Quinn fights to take it in the spirit it was intended. 'Yes; I guess, when I remembered how much of a loser I was, it made it easier to not think of it as loser club. We were losers together.'

Fran pushes her half-finished cookie towards her, and Quinn takes it with a nod of gratitude. Fran watches her as she takes a bite, and then looks around for their waitress, speaking distractedly.

'Even the Rachel girl? The one who was your sworn enemy for a while, as I recall? Still good friends with her?'

Okay, she really doesn't need to talk about Rachel right now. Quinn pretends her mouth is too full, and just nods in response. That's all it needs. They are still friends. Why wouldn't they be?

Fran smiles at her as Quinn struggles into her coat (the one that isn't now forever associated with Rachel), and throws an arm over her shoulder.

'Come on then, salon next. So I can have the usual, and you can talk ten minutes of big talk about a radical haircut, before having the usual.'

Quinn will allow her that one, she supposes. Siblings are supposed to be annoying.

* * *

A day later, and Rachel finds herself alone in her room. Free time is hard to come by when she visits home with Brody, but Dad is out shopping, while Brody and Daddy are watching something incomprehensible about football. And she knows her Daddy also hasn't the faintest clue what is happening either, but is playing along manfully, because Brody seems very excited.

Rachel uses this free time to eye the blazer. Quinn's blazer, that she managed to pick up from the floor yesterday morning, but hasn't made any further progress from the chair that she flung it on, as if it was the _blazer_ that was the real problem here.

It really isn't.

She can hardly pretend that she hasn't noticed. It isn't as though Quinn could have failed to spot that Rachel wandered off with her jacket, in the midst of a small scale panic attack that she was trying desperately to hide.

And even if she didn't notice in the moment of Rachel's leaving, Quinn must have noticed when she decided to leave.

Ignoring this isn't an option.

Having eliminated that possibility, Rachel tries to map out what should be done, toying with her cell, flipping it from one palm to another.

So. If friend A accidentally walked off with friend B's property, it would be logical to assume that friend B would expect contact from friend A at some point, to apologize with a smile and suggest when friend A and B could meet up to restore friend B's property to friend B's hands.

Rachel takes a deep mental breath.

However, if friend A ignored the theft situation, friend B would assume that either friend A was a thief (not ideal), or assume that friend A was somehow perceiving some kind of awkwardness in the initiated contact. And, it would logically follow that friend B would reassess the evening of the theft, to identify whether there were any unusual occurrences…

And so, radio silence will make Quinn believe that Rachel feels awkward about the fact that they kissed. Which she one hundred per cent doesn't. Because that would imply that it meant something.

Which it didn't.

The part Rachel remembers the most vividly is that she had no idea what to do with the hand furthest away from Quinn. She remembers how it had ended up gripping the corner of the wall beneath her so tightly there had been marks left on her palm afterwards. Which had been silly, because nothing was going to happen. She didn't need to hang on.

She does, however, need to message Quinn. For reasons that she has just been through, and will not be going through again. Common decency requires it.

With determination, Rachel opens her message function.

A determined fifteen minutes, Rachel has composed a message which reads; _Hi!_

Another five minutes after that, her phone chimes so abruptly that she yelps and promptly drops it.

It's Santana.

* * *

It takes nearly two days to clean up Brit's house

Not that it was particularly crazy, or messy, or whatever, it's just that Brit's parents aren't due back in town for another couple of days, and Santana keeps getting distracted from her clean up duties by Brittany's everything.

And sure, they haven't seen each other for a while. Of course they're going to capitalize. Even if they're surrounded by discarded cups and bottles, on that first morning.

One day, Santana is gradually realizing, she'll have to grow up. And then she probably can't eat people out on the floor. Or at least not make a habit of it.

Brittany hugs her from behind, on her way out to buy some more air freshener, and then randomly reaches up to squeeze at one of Santana's breasts through her tank top, which is so incongruous with the bowl full of suds and glassware which Santana is currently dealing with that it makes her snort with laughter.

Brittany kisses her on the cheek.

'See you in a bit, housewife. Don't forget you said you were ringing Rachel about the travel share thing, okay, because otherwise I'll be stuck with you forever and that would be hellish, clearly. I'd get nothing done.'

Santana rolls her eyes, and then air kisses back.

'Later B.'

* * *

After Brittany's gone, Santana waves the dishcloth at the pots for a bit, and then sits at the kitchen table.

Okay, so technically, this is a bit awkward, because it is a favor that she's asking for here. But the truth is that Santana is on an economy drive, right now, because New York is expensive and she's trying, at least, to not rely on her parents forever. But she figures that she must have done Rachel hundreds of favors in the past, and also it is hardly that much of an inconvenience.

'Hello?'

Santana hold the phone away for a second and frowns at it, because Rachel sounds really weird and startled, but remembers that she's with Brody and therefore probably in the middle of doing something heterosexual that she doesn't want to know about.

'Hi Bezzer, not interrupting anything am I?'

Rachel launches into what sounds like the beginnings of a paragraph of blah, so Santana moves to shut that down.

'Okay, yeah, so, listen in. There's an airline deal for the day we wanted to travel. If we change our tickets to fly at the shitty side of sunrise and group book, there's about a forty dollar discount. Would you guys be up for it? I'll do the bookings and the hassle, if you're in.'

Rachel's quiet for a moment, and then asks 'How many do you need to count as a group?'

Santana pinches at the bridge of her nose, and frowns at the info in front of her.

'Well, if it was you and the boy, me and Kurt, and if we drag Quinn along too, then we'll make the numbers. And so, it isn't Quinn's usual arrival airport, but I am going to demand that she stays the night, so we can maybe take her out and show her how dancing and meeting people can be fun.'

Again, with the buffering. Santana looks out of the window while Rachel processes this, but she's not worried, because Rachel knows about the money situation and isn't likely to be unhelpful. It's Kurt she's more concerned about honestly, because that man is the opposite of a morning person.

'What kind of club do you think we'll go to?'

What? So not the point, here. 'Not sure yet, one of the usual's I guess. So is that cool with you guys? Do you need to speak to Brody?'

Rachel hums to herself for a second, and then says, 'ahh, yes, I'll need to check, I'll message you, okay?'

Santana nods, and then taps her pen on the table decisively. 'Awesome, okay, I'll check with Quinn next. See you…'

She's a fraction of a second away from ending the call when she hears Rachel again.

'Santana, wait!'

'What?'

'Could you… um, when you speak to Quinn could you tell her I've got her blazer, but I'll give it to her when I next see her?'

Santana scrunches up her face in confusion. 'Since when am I your PA Rachel? Sure, whatever. Blazer. Anything else you want me to pass on? Or are we done?'

'No, that's it. We're done.' And then Rachel's gone.

Seriously. Whatever she just interrupted, Santana hopes Rachel doesn't stick like that, because she can't deal with weird Rachel on a day to day basis.

* * *

Quinn says yes, that's fine, in fact it'll be fun, she's sure they'll all just fall asleep on the plane, and of course she'd love to stay with Santana, so she can check Santana has stopped living in squalor, but instead has discovered the powers of bleach.

Santana swears at her a few times in an amused tone, and then hangs up to ring Kurt. Quinn returns her cell to the bedside table, and tries to re-focus on her course text.

This is a terrible position to read in, lying on a bed while holding the book above her head, at eye level, but she started this chapter in this position and she's damn well going to finish it.

Her arms ache, reminding her that she isn't head Cheerio any more, but she grits her teeth and pushes forward.

Santana said that Rachel 'had said something about your blazer, she'll give it to you when she sees you, okay?'

Why Rachel hadn't chosen to tell her this herself is beyond Quinn.

Or…

Rachel can't be mad with her, can she?

It was just a… silly thing. Caught up in the moment. And Rachel had been equally guilty of instigating it, Quinn's sure.

Rachel had been the one to open her mouth first. Not that it matters, but it does, because Rachel's fingers had squeezed hers at that point, and Quinn had trembled, she remembers.

In fact, the more that she thinks about it, Quinn did nothing wrong at all, asides from kiss a friend who looked at her with eyes that had screamed 'kiss me now'.

Cheerio camp had contained kissing, in the past. Of girls. Not many, but Quinn was nothing if not thorough in exploring her options, as she came to the realization that all boys of her age were woefully immature. And Santana and Brittany made the whole thing okay, somehow. As if, look, everyone does it, even the pretty girls.

So, she is aware of the look. Quinn received it often enough, particularly when out with Santana in one of her 'open-minded' clubs. And sure, she hadn't acted on it in a good while, but that didn't mean that it was unsolicited affection, what she gave to Rachel at the party.

Affection. She does like Rachel. Quinn's kissed people in the past that she has harboured extreme distaste for. This borders on being one of the most honest kisses Quinn's ever participated in.

Quinn frowns at the book, realizing that she's been staring at the one sentence for the last five minutes, and tries to refocus.

Maybe she should apologize to Rachel anyway. She's loath to, because she doesn't think she needs to, but perhaps Rachel feels Quinn was out of order, what with the presence of Brody at the party. Maybe that's it. Maybe Rachel's angry that Quinn has made her feel guilty. Which she shouldn't. Mindless kissing should hardly count as kissing. Quinn knows now, that people kiss people that they shouldn't all the time. It doesn't matter.

A message something like… _don't worry about the blazer, no rush. Hope you liked the party, sorry for being…_

_Sorry for…_

Rachel had kissed her. They'd kissed. It had been pleasant. (Rachel had gasped into her mouth and shifted closer, in a way that made Quinn feel good, wanted.)

Nobody was hurt.

Quinn abruptly tosses the book to one side and sits up. She ignores the impulse to contact Rachel.

She's not sorry, she decides.

* * *

Kurt is going to murder Santana. Or at the very least pull her hair.

The human body isn't meant to be awake at this time. He feels as though he's dreaming, fighting through a wall of instinct screaming for a horizontal position.

And it doesn't help, _in the slightest_, that Brody is even more of a morning person than Rachel, and ruffles his hair with a laugh on his arrival at check in.

'Morning sleepy head. You look like shit Kurt, very poor effort.'

Kurt tries to muster a glare, and then scans the space for some kind of outlet that'll serve him caffeine. 'Brody, just because you and the wonder girl like to be up and singing with the lark, doesn't mean the rest of us do. Some of us would like to shoot the lark. Rachel, if you use this as an opportunity to sing I will not be held responsible for my actions. The 'no singing before nine' law still stands, despite us not being at the apartment.'

Rachel rolls her eyes at him, and then scans the departures board anxiously. Kurt summons all his efforts, and attempts basic math.

'Where are Quinn and Santana? We have to go through soon, no?'

Rachel just bites her lip in response. Brody looks down at her, apparently puzzled by her lack of words, and shrugs his shoulders.

'Restroom, I guess. They've been a while. Probably going through some kind of ex-cheerleader air safety routine.'

* * *

What the ever-loving fuck?

Santana frowns at Quinn, who is suddenly, and for no apparent reason, endlessly adjusting her hair in the mirror. The request made no sense. Santana glanced at her watch.

'Okay, Q, we actually need to start moving. They'll shut the gate. If Kurt isn't here I'll shred his wardrobe. And why the hell do I need to un-invite Rachel from our night out? Is this bathroom in 2010?'

Quinn glares at her in the mirror, and holy shit, maybe she did step into time machine. 'Santana, I am not playing this with you right now. I don't feel much like dancing and whatever-ing, and Rachel is always full of endless enthusiasm on these nights out. I haven't got the energy.'

Santana throws her hands up in the air. 'Okay, so we don't go out. We'll do a girls movie night instead, invite Berry, make her watch films that make her cry, that's always entertaining.'

Quinn breathes out very steadily, and then turns to face Santana, speaking slowly. 'We will talk about this when we get to yours, okay? Just, don't mention it again until we've spoken, and maybe I'll feel less of an old woman later.'

Santana snorts despite herself. 'Well you said it, Q…'

Quinn rolls her eyes, and pokes Santana in the midriff suddenly. 'Come on, you're making us late…'

* * *

This airline is one of the better ones, Brody decides, because the seats aren't hell to sit in and the flight attendants leave you alone, rather than endlessly trundling up and down.

Brody reaches for Rachel's hand, as the sun peeks up over the horizon. She's got the window seat, and has been watching the view since the flight took off. He leans close to her, nosing at her ear for a second.

'Hey. You okay?'

Rachel smiles at him after a moment, and she looks weary, somehow, in a way that makes Brody want to pull her into his arms and let her sleep. He kisses the corner of her eye instead.

'I'm fine. Just… bit worried about my classes this semester.'

He puts a hand behind her neck, massages for a moment.

'You'll be fine. You've come this far, huh? Nothing stops you.'

He's rewarded with a kiss, and a squeeze of his hand.

'Thanks for coming with me, I know it bit into your rehearsal time.'

'Shush, I had fun, you know I did.'

Rachel kisses him again, smiles once, and turns back to the view. The sun's a fraction higher now, and the color of the sky is changing rapidly. It looks kind of amazing actually. Brody looks around to see if anyone else is noticing this, twisting in his seat and craning upwards to look over his head rest.

Santana had commandeered the window seat on boarding the plane, but is currently dead to the world with her mouth wide open. Kurt is wearing an eye mask, but Brody can tell by the set of his mouth that he isn't asleep, but rather staging some kind of ironic protest about the fact that he isn't asleep.

In the middle of them, Quinn sits, currently in the process of highlighting some photocopied sheets. She looks up, startled, when Brody's head appears, and he grins awkwardly.

He really doesn't know Quinn that well, and nearly all of what he knows is third person knowledge garnered from Rach, or Kurt and Santana. Brody has already decided that half of it is nonsense, because no-one could be that schizophrenic without being in the care system, and besides, Rachel's always so happy when they have a chance to catch up.

Brody flounders slightly when his grin doesn't get returned, but instead Quinn just blinks at him, before raising her eyebrows in query. Shit, maybe she was super focused or something. Brody gestures vaguely out of the window, at the sunrise. Quinn leans past Santana to look for half a second, and then nods at him, with a slightly puzzled look.

Oh well. Sunrises clearly aren't for everyone. Brody rounds the whole interaction off with a thumbs up, however as he drops back into his seat he's uncertain whether that made things better or worse.

* * *

At the other end, their bags seem to take forever.

Honestly, this is the bit of regular cross state travel that she resents the most. Rachel doesn't mind the time taken in the journey, it's a half day worth of upheaval only, hardly impossible. But it isn't as if the airport can have been taken by surprise at their arrival, their plane didn't stop on a whim. And all she really wants to do is get back to her own space and have a bit of processing time, but instead she's been staring at the portal from which her luggage is due to appear for what feels like a month.

Kurt yawns loudly next to her.

'Well. At least the airport staff are getting some sleep.'

Santana glares up at him from her sitting position on the polished floor, and readjusts her legs.

'Look people, we can either moan about this, or accept that we are in the lap of the gods on this one. Take a hint from Q, Kurt. Be zen.'

Rachel is unsure how Quinn's decision to stare resolutely at her notes for the entirety of their wait here counts as following Buddhist philosophy. Rachel sort of wants to copy the position she's adopted though, sat with her back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of her. Quinn's wearing a big sweatshirt as well, and just looks as if she could wait all day for her bags, so long as her pen doesn't run out.

Rachel can't go and sit next to her though, for reasons. She sighs, and shifts her weight to the other foot.

Brody holds his hands up abruptly, then points at the carousel. A second later it hums into life, and Rachel lets out a weary 'yay'. Santana levers herself upwards.

'Okay Brod, I know you saw them press the button. You aren't that good.'

* * *

Their plane was only at half capacity, so once the luggage starts flowing their bags appear quickly enough. Hers and Brody's appear together, and Rachel watches him as he picks up both, before settling hers at her feet.

At some point she has to speak to Quinn, in order to hand back the blazer. She can hardly just throw it at her, and then run away.

Kurt strides ahead, once his bag is collected, off to claim a taxi for him and Rachel. Brody will travel with them, Santana and Quinn going separately to Santana's place.

When the cold air of the morning hits Rachel in the face, she's run out of time.

'Umm, oh! Quinn, before I forget, here, I… um, your blazer, I'm sorry about…stealing it.'

Quinn catches her eye, as she takes it, but Rachel can't maintain looking at her for more than half a second, and so misses Quinn's face as she answers.

'Oh, sure, thanks. I'd almost forgotten.'

Oh god, she hates how awkward this is, what the hell had she been thinking? What kind of moron kisses their friends?

Santana grabs at her for a hug, seemingly unconscious of what is happening. Maybe it is all in Rachel's head. Maybe they're fine.

Rachel realizes that the hug is to disguise a message, as Quinn says goodbye to Kurt.

'Hey, Quinn's reverted back to weird robot Quinn, but we're still doing something tonight okay? Keep an eye on your cell Berry.'

Their cab smells of air freshener, something slightly too sweet and slightly too invasive. New York is just waking, Rachel figures they're fractionally ahead of the main morning rush. It's good to watch people on the street, imagine back-stories for them.

Brody squeezes at her knee absent-mindedly, Rachel sends a silent request up for this mess to be fixable, at least.

She'll worry about the how later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Next one. Thank you for reading and reviewing, as I've said before, any obvious tweaks when it comes to Brit-speak are always appreciated. **

* * *

Good lord, he loves their apartment.

It's just so… Kurt rests his satchel on the table, and trundles his case into his room, where his walls are covered in old film prints and quotes that he'd felt were important, and the occasional sketch from his pad, pinned up with accusatory blu-tak, there to remind him that he has plans.

It's theirs. They've been here nearly two and a half years, and have created a space and a routine which works for the both of them. And sure, so it is maybe three more stops along the subway than would truly be convenient, but it means that they have a space that is functional and doesn't set off Kurt's claustrophobia.

It also means that Rachel goes from being potentially as annoying as hell, to being an almost perfect housemate. Somehow the extra square footage means he likes living with her, likes the rhythm they have. He even likes the dimension that Brody adds, who has become an extra housemate in Kurt's head because he's here so frequently.

Nice, non-offensive, metrosexual man candy who can cook and doesn't make a mess. What more could a person ask for in an unavoidable house guest?

When Kurt's unpacked (in a sense, he threw all clothing in the laundry and left the rest of his travel essentials on the floor), he wanders out to make coffee, resigned to the fact that he is now awake, the day has started.

Brody's got his feet stretched out in front of him, practically horizontal on their couch, nursing his own coffee. When Kurt flicks on the machine again, Brody looks around, and waves a hand vaguely over his head. His voice sounds gravelly when he says 'Oh hey man, sorry, I would have asked if you wanted one, but I thought you'd be sleeping too.'

Kurt glances at Rachel's closed door.

'Rachel's risking throwing her body clock out of synch? She must be tired.'

Brody scratches at the back of his head, and then rolls both his shoulders, clearly trying to shake off journey aches.

'Yeah, she's not been sleeping good, the past couple of nights. And you know it makes her cranky. She's all set for this week's seminars, so hopefully a day in bed will help her feel a bit more alive.'

Kurt sits on their armchair, cradling the hot mug in both hands, and blowing. Brody looks tired himself. Kurt cannot imagine Rachel being subtle if afflicted with insomnia. Reminded of his own fight with sleep on the plane, Kurt presses enquiring finger tips to his lower eyelids.

'On a scale of tea bag to grocery bag, how horrendous are these?'

Brody squints at him, and then drains his mug.

'Nothing a quick nap couldn't fix. I'll catch you later Kurt, rehearsal calls.'

Kurt hadn't realized Brody was working today. He seems remarkably calm for someone about to meet up with a new cast. Kurt raises his mug to him, as Brody shrugs his coat on.

'Good luck Mr Fantastic.'

Brody grins at him once, and closes the door quietly behind him.

* * *

He doesn't mean to nap, but finds himself flat out on the sofa with the midday news murmuring from the tv when his eyes blink open.

Kurt sits, and spots Rachel trying pace quietly around the kitchen, in an over sided jumper with her hair a mess.

'I don't suppose you are about to create food, are you? I'm wasting away here.'

Rachel turns, and rolls her eyes at him. 'Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I'm just toasting bread, shall I put some in for you?'

Kurt turns himself over, and stands on the second attempt. Rachel shifts over a bit, so Kurt can put his own toast on. He then plans to head for the fridge, but finds Rachel leaning her head on his shoulder, and sighing.

He freezes for a moment, and then puts an arm around her shoulders.

'You okay there sleepy head? Remember that I am not a bed please.'

Rachel doesn't move, and after a second says 'Kurt, have you ever…'

Kurt prods at her, when nothing more is forthcoming. 'No, Rachel. Never. What are you asking me?'

Rachel lifts her head, and appears to gather herself, running a hand through her hair.

'I mean, did you ever, when you were… um. I mean. Have you ever found yourself…'

Well, this is going marvellously. Kurt opens the fridge, finds his spread.

'Rachel, I'm very happy to provide answers when you manage to ask me something. Shall we sit?'

Rachel eats half a slice of toast before she remembers how to use words again.

'Santana has invited me over to stay the night. Watch some films and do girl things.'

Kurt nods, and nibbles on a crust.

'Sure, like first year. Will you be taking cookies or brownies? I ask because I think we might be out of eggs.'

Rachel pushes her plate an inch away from her on the table. 'Quinn's there too.'

Kurt squints for a moment, trying to figure out why Quinn makes a difference to the cookie slash brownie question. Does Quinn have strong feelings about one of them? 'So…'

'I'm not sure if I'm going.'

In the background the news channel flips to adverts, and the increase in volume draws Kurt's attention. When he looks back he could swear that Rachel was blushing.

Kurt can remember a time when Rachel would have given her left eye to do a sleepover and girl things with Quinn.

'Did you two fall out? You were odd, very odd during the journey, may I just say.'

Rachel blinks at him, looking weirdly twitchy. 'No, why… why would you think we'd fallen out? I just… maybe Quinn and Santana should have alone time, you know. Ah, catch up time. I don't want to be the third wheel.'

Kurt shrugs, tearing his toast into unequal halves.

'Whatever. But, if Santana's invited you, it's because you're welcome. That girl has no qualms about being rude, believe me. And you'd be a third wheel if it was Brittany. Not Quinn. The universe would implode if Santana and Quinn ever hooked up.'

Rachel looks at him for a long second, and then laughs abruptly, sparking Kurt to join in.

'Oh my god, can you imagine… they'd just end up arguing about who does what.'

Kurt doesn't particularly enjoy musing on hypothetical lesbian romps, but the concept is kind of ridiculous.

'Santana would think that she should be in charge, due to her knowledge in the field, but Quinn never truly lets Santana be in charge of anything. They wouldn't round second base without throttling each other, is my estimate.'

Rachel snorts, and stares off into the distance for a second, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

'I don't even know how that would work. They'd be like two magnets, bouncing away from each other.'

Kurt flaps a hand, fighting off a vision of Quinn and Santana literally being flung into walls by the force of their incompatibility. He raps his knuckles on the table, calling order.

'So you're going?'

Rachel gulps, and looks down at her plate.

'I… well. Maybe. I might… if Quinn messages, probably. But, she looked really tired on the plane. She might just want an early night, rest up for the next day.'

Kurt stands, suddenly unimpressed by his toast, and flips it in the trash.

'Oh just go Rachel, Quinn isn't that much of an old lady. And take brownies please, I always like the left overs.'

Rachel shrugs, and taps at her phone, distracted.

'I'll see how I feel, okay? Shall I make brownies anyway? I've nothing else happening today.'

Oh, that turned out well. 'Wonderful. Do what you want Rachel, just make sure you bake me something while you decide. I'm going to actually try and sleep now, rather than just pass out.'

* * *

Quinn doesn't know why she puts the blazer on, standing in front of the mirror in Santana's room.

Santana's in the shower, singing loudly because there's no lock on the door and the countless interchangeable girls that she shares with seem to have no concept of privacy. Quinn always manoeuvres the cabinet in front of the door, whenever she's in there, so at least she gets a second's warning.

The mirror isn't full length, but Quinn twists in front of it anyway, trying to see, foolishly, the back of the blazer.

It isn't as if the cut or the size can have altered, since Rachel wore it, but it just feels different, somehow, like it isn't hers anymore.

With a sigh, she takes it off, and rests it on the top of her case. She runs her hands through slightly too long hair (seriously, she really needs to have a proper cut, the next time she goes to the salon), and then sits on the edge of Santana's bed.

Quinn's phone isn't requiring her attention, but she looks anyway, scrolls mindlessly through her contact list.

She thinks, maybe, if she could just clear the air with Rachel, that would make the entire thing reset back to normal. She'd be able to stop thinking about it so much. Rachel has clearly been freaking out over it since the party, and Quinn feels guilty, regardless of whether she's actually _guilty_, because she isn't planning on telling anyone. If she could just communicate that to Rachel, somehow, then the whole thing would rest a bit easier in everyone's mind (she hopes).

But as it is, she literally cannot go for two minutes without flashing back to the cold seat on the wall, and the way Rachel had been so warm. And details keep emerging now, ones that she isn't even sure actually happened, but are rather a product of her imagination embellishing the truth.

Like how Rachel's lips had tasted.

Or the way Rachel's thumb had rubbed at the inside of her palm, without plan or purpose.

Or how Rachel had pressed closer into her, until her heart beat had seemed countable, readable.

Those sorts of details.

Clearly, some kind of line needs drawing here.

Her phone has gone into energy save mode while she considered this. Quinn presses the button again, all ready to just call Rachel, and jump into it, because the first shock of it will be forgotten after two seconds, but then the door across the hall opens, and Santana strides into the room, clad in a towel and dripping water everywhere.

Quinn stuffs her phone back in her pocket, standing awkwardly, 'I'll go wait in your kitchen San…'

Santana points at her, motions her to sit back down. 'Hold it there McPrude, just restrain yourself from openly leering at me and we'll be fine, we need to talk.'

Quinn fixes her eyes on the wall in front of her, and grits her teeth, asking the question, although she already knows the answer.

'About…?

From the corner of her eye, Quinn can tell that Santana has dropped the towel, and really, sometimes Quinn can't tell if Santana likes getting naked around her just because she knows it winds Quinn up.

'About the fact that I'm inviting Berry over to watch some movies and stay, unless you have any logical objections.'

For the millionth time, Quinn wonders whether Santana can't read body language, or just ignores it. She can't have not noticed how awkward everything was at the airport, Quinn had felt like she was about to turn inside out at any second just from the sheer pressure of it all.

'I… what? I have no illogical objections. I'm tired, Rachel looked tired…'

Santana interrupts, flinging what Quinn hopes is a rejected sock at her for good measure.

'And I'm suggesting we sleep. You know, that cure for tiredness? I'm not, I don't understand, am I accidently saying _lets go run a marathon_?'

Quinn waves a hand around the room, biting back, 'Where does this sleep happen Santana? Three into a double bed is not a comfortable night's sleep.'

Santana swears, and opens a drawer. 'So I have an airbed? Two of us share, one of us on the blow up. Hardly advanced math.'

Quinn looks down at her hands, incapable of thinking of anything to dissuade Santana that isn't going to sound like she suddenly hates Rachel for no apparent reason. (she really doesn't. That isn't what this is about.)

'Okay, sure. Your call. Are we going to order in, or are you expecting me to create a banquet?'

'Order in, no? My cupboards are bare. Especially of vegan ingredients. Can you tell Berry please? I'm out of credit. Around sixish. You can defreeze now, by the way, I'm decent.'

Quinn snorts, already panicking about how to frame this message. 'You're never decent Santana.'

Santana cuffs her lightly on the head in response, and heads out into the corridor.

'Come on, we need to set up camp early in front of the TV, or one of my house bitches will no doubt claim it for the night.'

…

* * *

Santana ends up snoring next to her on the throw covered sofa, while the tv chats away mindlessly, and honestly, Quinn has never known someone with such a capacity for sleep.

After about an hour, the message she finally sends reads;

_Hey, Santana says come over about six. We'll order in and watch movies. Bring over night stuff! _

Quinn has double and triple checked it, but concluded that nothing untoward could be gathered from that. She'd even gone into her sent messages to check it matched the tone of communication between them before it had happened.

Once she presses send Quinn has a minor panic that she'd accidently sent a winking smiley rather than a standard one, but investigation proves that this isn't the case.

There. She just have to find a moment to speak to Rachel about the party over the course of the evening.

Twenty minutes later Rachel messages back with;

_I'm sure that will be fun. I'll bring brownies! I won't be staying though, have to be up early in the morning. Please let Santana know. _

Quinn tries to resettle after reading it, tries to get comfortable.

She really wants a bit of normal back, please.

…

* * *

When Santana wakes, it's because her phone has just vibrated by her hip.

_I'll be there in ten. R x_

Santana looks over to wave this in front of Quinn, only to discover that Quinn's asleep next to her, the lazy bitch. She has somehow managed to steal all the throw that was supposed to be keeping both of them warm, and is generally looking like the sort of immaculately perfect person Santana should hate with a passion.

If only she drooled, or something, but no. Quinn looks perfect even when she looks a mess, in sweatpants and a sweater with a hole at the elbow. Santana, on the other hand, looks a mess even when she looks perfect, and those two things _are not the same._

Santana considers drawing on Quinn's face, but puts the impulse to one side, and rises quietly, shuffling out towards the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet. Hopefully things stay that way. Santana is not in the mood to deal with people right now.

In fact, she's in her usual, post-Brittany, fuck off and leave me alone mood. The one where suddenly she decides that everyone is more attractive than her, and Brittany will inevitably realize this at some point and start seeing someone way better than Santana could ever be.

Santana flicks on the kettle, and then stands with her hands on her face for a second, before pinching at her temples hard.

She's fine. She'll see Brittany again soon. Her and Quinn are at least on a par, in hotness stakes.

Santana doesn't know why she does this. It just happens.

This is why Rachel definitely needed to be invited over. Santana and Quinn would just watch in silence, making the odd sarcastic comment, which would allow Santana to rattle around in her own head for two hours. Rachel however, will inevitably monopolize the remote and pause the film every three minutes to launch into some kind of director's commentary and analysis on the motives of the main protagonist, leaving Santana and Quinn to laugh and moan and throw cushions at her head. _As it should be._

Santana needs Rachel to fill in the gaps, sometimes. Particularly post-Brittany.

After rooting in her cupboard for forever, she finds the soy substitute she keeps for Rachel, and sets about making a hot chocolate. Because the weather outside sounds brutal, and she doesn't need Rachel to die of pneumonia _before _she's improved Santana's mood.

The buzzer sounds, and Santana presses the button to allow Berry up. She sticks her head around the living room door, where Quinn's still in the same position on her couch, but blinking rapidly at the television screen.

'Morning princess. Berry's coming up.'

Quinn stands suddenly, and she looks dishevelled and bleary eyed, and Santana can't help but snort a little. Quinn moves over to the mirror, trying to tame her hair.

'Thanks for the warning…' Quinn mumbles, but Santana just shrugs, because whatever, it's only Rachel.

When she opens the door, Rachel's standing there looking like the wind has made a good job of re-styling her hair. Santana takes the tin out of her hands without saying anything, and looks at Rachel enquiringly.

Rachel coughs once. 'Brownies.'

Success is hers. Santana generously stands to one side. 'And that means you can come in.'

…

* * *

She's going to murder Brittany.

Turns out that the film which Brittany sold to her as 'Imagine Me and You, but in Sweden' is a lot more x-rated than Santana had anticipated.

And so, because Rachel loves Imagine Me and You, (or has a massive girl boner for Lena Headley, Santana can't tell), Rachel had voted for that, and Quinn had non-committaled herself into agreeing, and now it would appear they are watching porn.

With some kind of heavy, vaguely depressing plot.

But also porn.

And, god, this is going to be fucking ridiculous in about a week's time, but right now Quinn and Rachel are probably thinking Santana's just watching it so she can picture the blonde one as Brittany. And she can't even turn it off, because Rachel's got the remote, and if Santana were to fling herself across the room to retrieve it and abort this evening's entertainment, Rachel would think it was because Santana was about to cry and Quinn would think it was because Santana was about to orgasm.

Neither of which are the case.

Maybe she'll murder Rachel instead, for being so goddamn open-minded that 'a rom-com is a rom-com, regardless of the genders involved.'

Or maybe Quinn, for being a complete prude and leaping to her feet to ask if anyone wants anything from the kitchen, every time a make out session looks like becoming too heavy.

Or maybe she'll just pretend to fall asleep.

Or maybe she'll just fling herself out of the window.

Santana can't even look at Quinn, and even Rachel's stopped pausing the DVD to comment on the cinematography and has gone vaguely pink.

And _thank fuck_ for the pizza boy. Santana's never up from the couch so quickly.

'Food! Food, guys. Get plates. Berry, turn it off.'

…

* * *

Four slices into her pizza, and Santana can't help but notice that the film is still paused, in at some scene where hot blond is about to kiss hot brunette, and both Rachel and Quinn are resolutely refusing to look at the screen.

In a snap decision, Santana reaches across quickly, and flicks the television off at the wall, before stuff the remainder off her crust into her mouth to avoid speaking for a second.

Rachel, bless her, with her best 'I'm not homophobic' face on, is gearing up to pretend that she really was enjoying watching that, and Santana flaps a hand at her.

'Sorry guys. I couldn't handle watching anymore soft porn with you two poker facing your way through it.'

After a second, Quinn snorts, and takes a big gulp of her glass of wine.

'But Santana, it was European porn. With subtitles. Practically high-brow.'

Santana pushes at Quinn's shoulder, and then laughs.

'Feel free to borrow it for your own personal time, but I don't think a pyjama party is quite the right setting for it.'

Santana enjoys the way that Quinn blushes hard at that, and immediately feels less awkward. She leans back on her elbows on the floor, and pokes her toe at Rachel.

'What about you then Berry? Want to borrow it?'

Rachel tears a small piece of pizza off, and then raises both her eyebrows at Santana.

'No, thank you Santana, I prefer my porn with significantly less plot, if it's all the same to you.'

The way Quinn chokes on her drink at that announcement makes the entire episode worth it.

…

* * *

The brownies taste amazing, as per usual. Seriously, it's the one vegan thing that Santana thinks Berry is cooking correctly, everything else cannot possibly be supposed to taste like that.

Quinn thaws a bit, after another glass of wine, and they end up staying sat on the floor watching an old set of Will and Grace re-runs that Santana found on some god-forsaken channel. Santana has an excellent time pointing out all the ways in which Rachel is exactly like Will, until even Quinn is laughing along.

By the time it gets to eleven, Berry's standing, and calling a cab, and generally making 'I'm leaving' noises. And Santana realizes she's hardly thought about Brittany at all.

'Hey, I thought you were staying?'

Rachel looks a little startled when she answers, and glances at Quinn.

'Ah, no, I told Quinn. I've got to be up early. Sorry San, another time, maybe?'

…

* * *

Santana swings herself around the corner, hanging onto the door frame.

'Catch you later Berry, be safe, okay?'

Rachel hopes to make take that and hammer some meaningful conversation from it, even has her mouth open, but Santana's already in her kitchen, chatting to Lydia, one of the endless collection of girls she shares this place with. Rachel has to shut it, feeling like a moron, and then turns to Quinn, determined for this to be as painless as possible.

She's been trying to be normal, she really has. The switch to Will and Grace helped. But she still feels like she's about to explode from the unsaid, and that film seemed to strip Rachel of all of her carefully accumulated normalcy, that she'd dragged together from three years of good friendship with Quinn.

Her announcement about her porn viewing habits, and Quinn's subsequent reaction hadn't helped. She'd intended for it to be a joke, but…

Quinn stands there, and then makes an odd gesture at her side, as though she wanted to reach for her pockets, but remembered at the last moment that her sweats didn't have any. The action makes Rachel chest do something funny, and she nearly misses Quinn's half attempt at a started conversation.

'So…'

Rachel picks up her purse, and tugs at her coat collar, checking it's adjusted correctly. She discovers it easier to look at parts of Quinn, rather than take her all in. Quinn's ankle receives meaningful eye-contact. Quinn's shoulder gets a smile.

'So! Hope you have a fun few months; don't work too hard.'

Good lord, what is she, Quinn's aunt? Rachel reaches for the door handle, hopeful to emerge on the other side, where this moment is in the past.

Quinn reaches for her wrist.

'Rachel… wait.'

It's so easy to follow instructions. Quinn's made a request. Ball is in her court.

Quinn drops her wrist when she's sure Rachel isn't going to dart off, and crosses her arms. Rachel finds herself doing the same.

'This is… silly. I'm sorry about the party. I'm sorry it upset you. I don't want this to suddenly become a big awkward thing, okay? It was nothing.'

Rachel looks at Quinn, and finds her biting her lip. Quinn stops a split second later.

'Just…can we accept that a kiss is sometimes just a kiss? I'm not sure I'm enjoying whatever all this… weirdness between us is, Rachel. I'm not preying on you, or going to try and seduce you, okay?'

Santana laughs somewhere, far distant, in the shared kitchen. It helps, a bit, helps Rachel smile, and say appropriate things.

'Oh god, of course, let's draw a line under the whole thing…I thought you'd think that I was preying on you somehow!'

Quinn eyes Rachel for a moment, and then smiles, the first normal smile Rachel thinks she's received since all this began.

'Well… I suppose that could make more sense. I am completely out of your league.'

Rachel gasps, and hits Quinn on the arm in affected outrage. Quinn steps into her to avoid the second blow, and before Rachel can even decide whether she's in a stable enough mental state for this to happen, Quinn's hugging her.

Thankfully her body reacts on auto pilot, and she does what she normally does when Quinn hugs her; smile and hug back.

It's a relief. Quinn feels like she always does, smell like she always does_. This is how it always is._

'Now, Rachel, let me just say that sometimes things like this happen, and this doesn't have to be the end of the world, okay? I'm not telling anyone, so you can stop it with the internalized panic. It's good, in fact. Friends do this all the time. Very normal.'

Do what? Accidentally kiss, and then spend nearly a week obsessing about it? Rachel isn't sure about that one, but decides that maybe Quinn's right. Also, speaking about this in a hug turns out to be surprisingly easy, because Rachel doesn't have to think so much about how her face is reacting.

'Okay then. That's good to know. Sorry I've been so weird about it.'

Quinn releases her, and but doesn't back off much, just stands there and reaches to tug vaguely at Rachel's scarf.

'Have a good few weeks; I'll have to come visit soon to check you aren't letting Kurt do all the interior design, huh?'

Rachel smiles gratefully at her, grateful for so many things right now. Her voice wobbles slightly when she says 'I'd like that.'

Quinn nods, and then looks at their feet for a second, before stepping back.

'Remember to tell San you got back safe, she always gets really stressed otherwise.'

Rachel twists at her bag strap slightly, and then realizes that this is her cue to leave.

'Sure thing. Bye Quinn. Have a safe journey back.'

Quinn mock salutes, and Rachel's out in the cooler stairwell, already a flight down by the time the door clicks shut behind her.

The stair rail is polished smooth by generations of hands, and is cool to the touch, and Rachel keeps her palm to it all the way to bottom, carrying an echo of the sensation out onto the street.

There. At least that's settled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for reading and reviewing. This chapter is mainly Quinn orientated. Please note that I know nothing about Yale and New Haven, so things will probably seem vague. :)**

* * *

The journey from Santana's place to Quinn's room takes about two and a half hours, door to door.

Quinn makes it so often that she's made a playlist of songs, which is timed almost to perfection. She judges whether she's had a particularly good run on the basis of whether she has one song left, or two.

The final stretch usually involves her getting off the bus a stop early, if the weather is good, and lugging her rucksack the extra ten minutes, just to remind herself of what normal places look like, places that aren't New York. Quinn does so today, burying herself extra deep in her scarf to ward off the biting cold that comes with February sunshine.

New Haven is exactly the same. This serves to remind Quinn that she is exactly the same.

On impulse, she detours into a café, and raises a hand in greeting, before sliding into a booth.

She never really completed her reading for this coming week, and if Ashleigh, her room-mate, is in, she'll have no real chance because they'll just end up swapping weekend stories.

Her course notes are only in the vaguest semblance of an order, and it takes her a moment to find the extract she'd been churning her way through. Quinn frowns at it slightly when it does emerge, partly because it is a great deal more crumpled than she remembers, but mainly because she loathes contextual analysis in Victorian literature.

She's got a half formed idea in her head of staying on, doing post-grad study. Her tutor took her to one side about a month ago and said that her grades so far would mean that she'd be considered very favorably, if she applied for a grant. Quinn hasn't really decided yet, she doesn't want to stay if she's only using it as a method of pressing pause on the rest of her life, staying in her bubble for another year or so.

But if she does complete extra studies, it certainly will not be in the field of Victorian literature.

Sighing, Quinn takes a sip of the coffee that is placed next to her, and raises her eyebrows in thanks to her server. Then the cap of the highlighter comes off, and she attempts to bury herself in other people's ideas.

…

* * *

Ashleigh has decided to welcome Quinn home by spring cleaning their living space.

'Umm, Ash…?

Quinn cleans regularly; her room thoroughly, and she at least waves a duster at Ashleigh's discarded stuff, because it's easier to keep the place fresh if half of it isn't covered in a layer of dust.

Ashleigh cleans like it is special occasion. An annual special occasion. She has an _outfit _for the process.

Ashleigh is underneath one of the sofas, vacuuming what might be the underside of it, Quinn can never be sure. Quinn waits a second, and then unplugs the vacuum at the wall.

'What the fuck?'

Quinn pokes at Ashleigh's ankle with her toe.

'Hey Ashleigh. Can I help?'

Ashleigh squirms her way out, and Quinn can't help but wrinkle her nose a bit, at the sheer number of dust motes Ashleigh has got stuck to her. Ashleigh looks down at herself for a second, and then shrugs.

'Vacuum me? Hello. Did you have a good time? Minestrone girl well?'

Ashleigh keeps a million nicknames for Quinn's high school friends. Lately, minestrone girl has stuck for Rachel, because Quinn couldn't help but pass on how crazy Rachel's little outburst had been over the phantom soup. Quinn nods, and makes her way to her room to set her backpack down when…

'Yeah, they're all… Ashleigh, why is all of your desk stuff on my bed?'

Ashleigh jumps, and leans past her to pick up the mouse mat, as if that is the main cause of Quinn's distress.

'Aah, I needed a place to put them. Doing a deep clean on my room. And my bed had my laundry on it, and the floor had my course notes on it, and I didn't want to put anything out here because you know what some of the others are like. Sorry.'

Quinn's lived close by Ashleigh for nearly three years now, and shared a dorm space for this past year, with a couple of other students they don't know as well. Normally, she's a very good person to live with. Today is clearly not to be a normal day. Quinn dumps her bag on the floor, and turns to Ash, smiling once and saying 'Spring clean day, huh?'

Ashleigh smiles sheepishly. 'Yeah, sorry. I thought I'd have longer before you were back, did you get an early train or something? You usually spend every last second in New York.'

Quinn shrugs, waving away the apology. 'Wanted to get back, I guess. I'm going to fix some lunch, how long do you need to finish?'

Ashleigh surveys the damage, and bites her lip, grinning cheekily. 'Maybe…an hour? Have you got something to do? Apart from make me an excellent lunch?'

Quinn enjoys cooking. Ashleigh enjoys eating food that doesn't give her food poisoning, and is happy to contribute more than her fair share towards the shopping budget. There are worse arrangements. Quinn shrugs.

'Yeah, I'll be fine. Try not to have too much fun.'

…

* * *

She ends up just throwing together a pasta bake, and sits at the kitchen table, waiting for time to pass.

It's quiet. Quinn's kitchen serves eight people, but most of them tend to go travelling, or home, over the longer weekends. Quinn and Ashleigh appear to have the place to themselves.

She tries reading for a bit, but ends up staring at her phone, scrolling through photos.

She wants to message Rachel.

In fact she's feeling pretty overwhelmed with… temptation? Does this even count as temptation? She just wants to say hello, you see. Just to test the waters, really. Maintain this hard won normality. God knows it was hard enough when Rachel was leaving, when Quinn had her first moment alone with her, to try and figure out the correct things to say to fix things. Particularly after that god awful film Santana made them watch half of, which seemed to be primarily about cheating.

So now messaging Rachel feels like a hard won privilege.

But she can hardly just message her to say hi. That sort of thing doesn't happen.

In the end, Quinn carefully composes a text, which seems to be an extremely difficult challenge, these days. And then Ashleigh clatters into the kitchen, Quinn's distracted enough to just press send.

…

* * *

Rachel's in a class.

It's one of the few classes that isn't just practical skills. She has to watch other performances, and critique. Her turn was a couple of weeks ago. She's never been very good at just watching others.

She's close to the back, and there are at least twenty other people in here, so when she feels her phone vibrate she can get her bag on her lap and disguise the fact that she's looking at her phone easily enough.

_I'm heating soup for lunch. Any last minute advice?_

Rachel blinks at the phone for a couple of moments, and then has to fight down a bubble of laugher that threatens to emerge. She can't help the smile though, and hopefully nobody on stage is looking at her face, because this is supposed to be a tragedy.

What is this though?

After a second, Rachel thumbs back,

_Trust your instincts. And stand well back._

…

* * *

Quinn snorts when she reads it, and then just grins at her phone like a lunatic. Ashleigh puts a plate down in front of her, and nods at the phone.

'What's that?'

'Oh…' Quinn launches into an explanation, which doesn't seem to make sense to Ashleigh, who waves her fork at her plate after a second.

'But… you weren't making soup?'

Dammit. Quinn puts a forkful of food in her mouth to avoid further questions, and shrugs, toying with her cell with her free hand. Ashleigh stares at her for a second longer, and then rolls her eyes.

'Okay…anyway, I'm going to the library in a while, I've got seventeen hours to finish an essay. I'll stop at the shop on the way back, do you need anything?'

Quinn nearly invites herself along, but doesn't really want to sit in the library for no good reason. She's done her reading. Maybe she'll go to the gym. She swallows and says 'No, I think we're good. We'll catch up tonight, yeah?'

Ashleigh nods, and takes a swig of water.

'Sure thing, I need to hear all about the Brittany party, you know I need updates on your people.'

…

* * *

At the end of the seminar, while she's at the subway station, Rachel checks her phone again.

_Survived. Thanks _

Rachel doesn't know why this makes her ridiculously happy. It just does.

…

* * *

Kurt meets with Brody for lunch.

Kurt's building is ten minutes walk from the place Brody had suggested, but Kurt is still frozen solid by the time he arrives, having failed to anticipate an extended outdoors excursion today, and so only having a light jacket with him.

He'd borrowed a scarf from a co-worker, however, and is feeling like a very debonair Popsicle right now, so it isn't a complete disaster.

Brody's already there, and raises a hand in greeting. Kurt slides into the booth opposite him, and looks down at the food already in front of him. Brody grins.

'I took the liberty of ordering for you, I hope you don't mind. It's just I don't get a very long lunch break, and you usually get a toasted bagel whenever you're out so…'

Kurt nods happily, and peels off his gloves, taking a bite the second his hands are released.

'So, Brody? What can I do for you? Unless this is your attempt to woo me, in which case I expect far more than a bagel on a first date.'

Brody just laughs, and wags a finger at him. He says 'Please Kurt, you're way out of my league. I wouldn't even think I had a chance.'

Kurt laughs at him, and takes a drink of water.

'It's going well then? All the singing and dancing.'

Brody looks down at his plate for a second, but Kurt can tell it's to hide a smile, and he grins in response.

'Yeah, going good. Not been fired yet.'

God, he likes this boy. Seriously, Kurt's so glad Rachel got over whatever little moment she was having, because he'd miss Brody a lot, he realizes, if him and Rachel ever broke up. Kurt claps his hands together in response to Brody's self-deprecation, and then leans forward, a co-conspirator.

'Well then, what's going on? Because the last time you and I had secret meetings, it was for Rachel's twenty first planning.'

Brody had taken Rachel to Paris. Kurt had nearly died with envy.

Looking over his shoulder, Brody lowers his voice, as if they're in some kind of farce.

'Have you guys discussed possible living arrangements for after the summer?'

…

* * *

Kurt can hardly concentrate, for the entire afternoon.

He's been sworn to secrecy, naturally. The type that includes not telling Santana, and Kurt can understand why.

He's… processing, he supposes. Because this involves him just as much as it involves Rachel, and Kurt doesn't know what he thinks, yet.

He likes living with Rachel. He's not sure about the concept of changing things.

Brody suggested that next year he finds a place closer into the city centre, a place that he and Rachel could live, and Kurt, if he wanted. And Brody's endlessly generous parents have apparently already said that they are more than happy to help out with the rent, for the first six months.

Kurt knows that Brody just being his usual helpful self, by suggesting Kurt comes along too, because that cannot be the ideal scenario in his head.

He wants to just live with Rachel. And Kurt would be a reasonable extra factor to live with.

And Kurt doesn't want to be the third wheel. But equally isn't sure how he feels about suddenly having to find a new home.

He could always throw himself on the mercy of Santana, but from what he's seen of Santana's place those ladies live like feral cats. He doesn't know where Santana's found those girls, but they all seem to wander around half naked and are probably all sleeping together. Kurt's not sure he'd mesh well.

He could ask around. He knows enough people, with his job. Someone clean who is up to date with their rent and jabs is bound to have a spare room.

Poking away at the problem, like he's worry at a cut in his mouth, he decides that it isn't the inconvenience. It's that he'd miss living with Rachel. He doesn't like the idea of not living with her.

Pressing at both him temples, he re-attempts to focus on his inbox.

Clearly, he just needs a little processing time. And if he needs time, god knows what Rachel will need, judging from her current form. No wonder Brody mentioned it early.

…

* * *

Quinn does head to the gym, in the end, and spends an hour alternating between the running machine and the rowing machine in ten minute blocks.

She's nowhere near as fit as she used to be, when she was under Coach Sylvester's reign of terror, but she can at least ensure that she doesn't balloon like her mom had warned against, in the final few moments before Quinn had left for Yale, that first time.

She feels warm, good, afterwards, and walking back only helps to clear her head further, until the focus of last week seems a long time ago, a whole different life.

Quinn nearly texts Rachel again, when she gets back to her room, but for what purpose? Why can't she just trust her normal impulse to leave things well alone?

She toys with messaging Santana, but can't figure out what her reasoning would be. Besides, her and Santana don't communicate until they're in front of each other.

Quinn doesn't need to contact New York at all. She has people here.

Half five in the afternoon. Ashleigh probably won't be back for a while.

Sighing, Quinn turns on her Macbook, and lets it warm up as she shifts into the shared living space. As part of Ashleigh's lap of cleaning honor, she's pinned a post of some photogenic male on the shared notice board. Quinn looks away after a second.

She's got a new email from Brittany. She immediately feels unsettled, somehow. Her and Brittany don't email.

_Hi Quinn!_

_So yeah, if you reading this that you have totally arrived back in Yale, unless you are still at Santana's, and stealing the wireless from the flat above, which is kind of unethical, I guess, but you aren't looking at porn, so Jesus will forgive you._

_Lord Tubbington says hi._

_Actually, he totally doesn't, he's at home with mom, that's just what I say when I am not sure what to say._

_Santana thinks you need to go sleep with someone. I think she means fall in love. But Santana does that by sleeping with people, I guess, so she means well. Like, I know there was that man in first year, Steve? Or was it Sven? It was probably Steve. But I don't think you really liked him very much, but he did look like a nice boy. I don't know if you slept with him. You may have done. I asked him once, when you'd gone to get a drink, but he was super cryptic, and totally respected your privacy, so you don't have to go murder him, which must be a relief._

_Anyway, sometimes falling for people is good, you know. It makes your heart feel like it is twice the size, like all the stuff you are doing in your life has a point. I can totally understand the temptation to fall in love with people and kiss them, it is super intense, the falling in love bit. You feel like you are flying._

_But, like, falling for people can be completely full of ouch, too. Like, for example, if you are thinking about falling in love with someone who is, I dunno, in a steady relationship with someone else, and was probably just kissing you because they were drunk, then I'd stay away from that one._

_So, I saw you kissing Rachel. It's fine, no-one else did, and I closed the blind on the kitchen window to hide you guys. But I'm pretty sure Rachel is just trying you out, because she's not certain about Brody at the moment and she's always secretly wanted to kiss you. So even if it was the best kiss of your life, don't try it again. Unless you are already in love with her. And in that case I say godspeed. Because love is fun, and worth the risk. And you and Rachel would be totally hot together. Just sayin'._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Brittany _

Oh, fuck.

Quinn checks their door is locked, in case she needs half a second extra, and then calls Brittany.

'Hey Quinn!'

Quinn breathes through her nose for a second, because she's not angry at Brittany, she's just angry that she'd been lulled into thinking this was settled.

'Brittany. Hi. I got your email.'

'Oh.' Brittany's quiet for a long second, and then says 'What is your face doing right now? Can you look at a mirror and describe it please? Are you angry?'

Quinn frowns, and then checks herself.

'I'm fine. But Brittany, seriously, I'm not falling for, or in love with Rachel. It was just a… thing, that happened because we were drunk. We've talked about it. It's fine. Please don't mention it to anyone else.'

There's a long pause, and Quinn can think she can hear Brittany's fingers drumming on a hard surface.

'Are you sure you aren't in love, or falling or whatever? It is always best to be self-aware about these things. Like, it looked a really happy kiss. I kind of wanted to keep watching, but felt a bit creepy.'

Quinn closes her eyes, but that doesn't seem to help. 'It was nothing. I'm nothing but Rachel's friend. If it looked happy, it's because… it's because Rachel and I get on well generally. It was just a friendly kiss.'

The fact that Brittany's approaching this as some kind of private detective is not helping Quinn remain calm.

'Was it a friendly kiss with tongues, Quinn?'

She nearly ends the call.

'No!' she hisses, scandalized. 'Jesus, Brittany, can you… can we not talk about this? I'm _fine_, Rachel's fine. If you mention this to Santana I will throttle you, okay? I don't care how innocent and lovely you are, I will murder you.'

Brittany tuts at her, and Quinn bites her lip to avoid saying more.

'Oh, sure, Quinn, you're fine, I can tell the way you are being all calm and reasonable about this, huh? That is sarcasm by the way. But whatever, I won't mention it again, to anyone, ever. Unless you get married, in which case I'm claiming the right to having known first, okay?'

It's only the fact that Quinn is three stories up which prevents her from just throwing her phone out of the window.

'Brittany, you are way out of line, right now.'

Brittany just sighs at her. 'Okay, seriously, I won't mention it to you again. But just… know that I'm here, okay. If stuff isn't fine? Bye.'

Quinn drops her phone on the coffee table from such a height that it clatters, and slams her MacBook closed for good measure.

Seriously. Fuck.

…

* * *

After half an hour, she's calmed down a bit, because she can rely on Brittany to keep a secret, these days. And it's hardly as if she, Brittany, and Rachel are ever in a room together that often. Maybe if it's left long enough, Brittany will get bored of the concept.

She ends opening her inbox again, intent on deleting Brittany's email. Instead a sentence jumps out at her.

…_she's always secretly wanted to kiss you…_

Quinn stares at it for a second too long, and then presses delete.

She's fine.

She checks her phone, suddenly anxious for company. There's a new message from Ashleigh, claiming a raincheck because her on and off boyfriend seems to have decided to stop being a twat, and they're going to dinner. Quinn knows that means Ashleigh isn't coming back tonight.

Goddammit.

It's half six.

Maybe she'll sleep. She's tired.

…

* * *

It's completely black outside, when Quinn wakes suddenly. She gets up to close the curtains, and tries to resettle.

Checking her phone, it says that she has no messages. This does not help to distract her from why she awoke so abruptly.

She'd been dreaming of Rachel.

And not dreaming of Rachel in the way that she sometime does, when she flashes back to McKinley, and Rachel always seems to be singing something in the background as Quinn argues with someone, sometimes Puck, or Finn, or Santana, or Mr Schue.

This time she'd been dreaming of kissing Rachel. But they hadn't been on a wall, but rather on one of the crash mats Coach Sylvester used to make a younger Quinn get dropped onto, from a height, to check that the parachute landing training had succeeded in teaching her to fall without hurting herself.

They'd been sitting on a crash mat, with the party playing in the background, until Rachel had put a hand behind Quinn's neck, and pulled Quinn down on top of her.

Which had apparently felt so good that Quinn had woken up.

This is because of Brittany. Maybe Quinn _will_ murder her anyway.

Quinn lies back, and tries to think of anyone but Rachel.

It really doesn't work.

Quinn tries to remember the last person she'd kissed before Rachel, but that had just been some dark-haired boy at some party Ashleigh had dragged her along to. He'd tasted of beer. It had all been deeply unsatisfactory.

Rachel had tasted of…

Quinn shuts her eyes hard, but it doesn't help, because she can remember now. Rachel must have been wearing some kind of gloss, because the taste of lips don't usually create such a vivid memory.

In a desperate attempt, she tries to remember her make out sessions with Finn, how deeply unsexy the entire thing had been, how she'd always been vaguely grossed out by the bulge in his jeans.

But that doesn't help, because that just bring the entire thing back around to Rachel, of Rachel being kissed, of how Santana had drunkenly told her that Rachel sounded amazing in bed, from what Kurt had said, of how Brody got to actually sleep with her.

Shit.

She's turned on.

This doesn't happen to her. She is Quinn Fabray, this is her body, she is in charge. Not the other way around. She decides whether she's turned on or not.

She's really turned on.

Particularly when she thinks about what might have happened next in the dream, if she hadn't woken up.

She'd have fucked Rachel.

Because there's no need for rationality, in a dream.

Quinn knows, somehow, that Rachel would have pressed up into her until Quinn had pressed a thigh, or a hand, down into her. And Rachel would have moaned.

Fuck's sake. Rachel's her friend. Quinn's subconscious clearly thinks Rachel's some kind of porn star.

This line of thought really isn't helping with the whole, _really turned on_, situation.

Something, at that point, changes gear, and Quinn decides that, clearly, getting past this is the only way to get through this. With that in mind she slides her hand down, until it is _right there_.

She's wet. Wetter than she can remember in a long time, and _fuck_, for how long had she been dreaming of Rachel?

Quinn isn't going mess around. This is supposed to be clinical, like taking a headache tablet. This is not a fantasy.

Moving fingers quickly, Quinn's hips are arching up off the bed, her eyes screwed shut as she tries to think of the quickest mental avenue to get herself off.

Rachel, on her back.

Looking up at her.

Without her top on.

Moaning at whatever Quinn's hand is doing to her, beneath her panties.

Directing Quinn's head so Quinn has no choice but to tongue over her breasts.

And then wrapping her legs up behind Quinn's back, pulling her further down into her.

Kissing her.

…_she's always secretly wanted to kiss you…_

Fuck. Quinn has to clench her jaw to stop herself making a sound, but that doesn't prevent the whine, when she comes, hard.

Two minutes later, Quinn's got her hand resting over her eyes, shutting out the world.

This is going to be a problem.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for reading, and reviewing, I appreciate it. Just a heads up to remind everyone that I am still not from the US, and on occasion genuinely do not spot the British phrasing that can creep in to my writing. Telling me will help me improve, so if there's anything glaringly wrong, please let me know :)**

* * *

It's a month later.

Rachel declines to analyze in too much detail what it is a month later on from, but just is aware that this is somewhat of an anniversary, when she wakes in her bed.

The right side of her bed is still warm, and she slides a hand over the space where Brody had been sleeping, before wrapping herself in a white sheet, and sitting up, cross-legged, so she can see what the weather is up to outside her window.

The shower is running on the other side of the wall, and Rachel toys with the idea of getting up to go join Brody, but ultimately decides against it. It's Saturday, which means he's got two shows today. Rachel would need a little headspace, and so presumes the same is the case with Brody. Rachel is pretty sure that if she received a blowjob in the morning, she'd be a little distracted for the rest of the day. Never mind the confusion of discovering that she had a penis.

Unwillingly, she catches her own eye in the mirror, and makes a face, because _what _did she just think?

In an attempt to distract herself, she reaches for her phone, and checks FaceBook.

She's had a couple of friend requests, since she went to a cast lunch with Brody's work colleagues. Mainly from other chorus members; one of them, a friendly boy called Jacob, had been in the year above Brody at NYADA, and Rachel recognized him as one of the many success stories that Cassandra July had paraded in front of her in an effort to make her feel inadequate.

It had been enough to make her on edge for nearly the whole meal, until Jacob reached for her hand, as the entrée's had been cleared, and promised her that Cassandra did that to everyone she thought had potential, and had spent the entirety of Jacob's first year calling him Jacqueline.

It makes her feel better, a lot better, and the wine helps too, until they end up in a karaoke bar close to midnight, and Rachel is friends with _everyone._

She'd decided, abruptly, that evening, that maybe Brody being on Broadway wasn't the complete disaster she'd thought.

Rachel had always been sure that she could make it on her own.

But having contacts with people who were already in the business was unlikely to make her eventual realization of her dream _harder._

It made it simpler to be happy with Brody, these past few weeks. Simpler to remember that Brody was now a big part of her life, the rock around which nearly all of her NY life orbited.

He makes her happy, and treats her well. Why would anyone want to throw that away?

She does think about kissing Quinn, about how it had felt. But god knows she isn't mad enough to end her relationship with Brody, and scupper her hard won friendship with Quinn, because of how one kiss made her feel. She isn't insane.

(One kiss had made her feel like she was singing, with her entire body, in a way Brody's kisses never quite do.)

…

* * *

Santana is plotting.

She feels like a Bond villain. It's _amazing._ She's wearing sunglasses, heels, and is imagining that she's got a gun secreted somewhere on her person, and can break a man's neck with her bare hands.

Eventually, when the world does realize that she is a big deal, she's going to only play criminal masterminds. Or hot action heroines. That occasionally burst into song. She's not sure what genre that is, but she is going to be the queen of it.

And so, sure, at the moment she's mainly working as a barista, and every now and then earning cash on the side as an extra, but what's the point of being in New York if you can't dream big?

Anyway, this is hardly a significant plot, but rather just a covert meeting with Kurt, but Rachel and Brody are not to find out. Which is, well it's unlikely they would, even if Santana wasn't incognito, but things are more fun, this way.

Kurt's standing at the intersection on Fifth Avenue, as he said he would be. Santana doesn't even acknowledge him, just strides past him, into the park. Kurt falls in behind her.

'Are you being followed?'

Kurt skips a second to catch up with her, and says 'Not that I'm aware of, but Rachel is insane when she thinks a secret is happening, so… maybe.'

'Okay. Do you want coffee, or shall we find a bunker somewhere to speak openly?'

'Coffee. Coffee and a bench somewhere, would be ideal.'

…

* * *

Santana always makes sure she buys from a chain that isn't her own, (and fuck the employee discount, really. It's an insult) so it takes them a little longer than usual to take their seats in the park, on one of the standard stretch of benches that her and Kurt meet up on when the weather is good and Santana's lunch break aligns with Kurt's.

Kurt nods at her heels.

'I don't know how you do a shift in those killers, really?'

Santana glances down at them. 'I use them to crush the fingers of people who insist on keeping scraps of change, rather than tipping like any normal person would do. And enough small talk please Hummel, I've got other things to be doing. Like wiping tables.'

Kurt laughs at her, and pushes his sunglasses upwards so they rest on top of his head.

'So then. The update. Brody's friends are still trying to do a surprise birthday slash 'well done for actually getting a job' party thing. Michael, you know…'

Santana rolls her eyes, and chimes in 'attractive Michael.' Kurt claps his hands once, and continues.

'Well, he and I are practically lovers, right now, there have been so many secret texts. And Michael, due to his possession both brains and beauty, doesn't want to tell Rachel because he knows that Rachel and secrets do not end well.'

Santana nods at that, in complete agreement. 'Yes. Evidenced by your twentieth, and the July the Fourth disaster.'

Kurt takes a sip of his coffee, and continues.

'Therefore, Michael needs me. And you to a lesser extent. But he really needs me. If this goes to plan, he might propose.'

'Yes, he might forget his sexual orientation and realize that sparkly boys are what his heart truly desires.'

Kurt snaps his fingers under her nose. 'Exactly, although let's not fall into homophobic slurs, Santana, because you are just as gay as I am.'

Santana taps at her watch meaningfully, because time is ticking and their usual game of who is the gayest gay will only waste their plotting chances. And besides, it's obviously Kurt. Kurt re-arranges his scarf, and continues.

'So, we need to make Rachel think that she is planning a romantic meal for the two of them, at Michael's specified restaurant, and make sure they both arrive on time, none the wiser. That way Brody is actually surprised, and if Rachel has a small seizure then we can bundle her off into a cupboard and get her to not flip out.'

Sounds straight-forward enough. Santana checks her cell, suddenly wishing that she had attractive Michael's number, so she could call him and congratulate him for realizing that Kurt and Santana are evil geniuses, when it comes to gently manipulating their friends.

'Does sexy Mike say whether we can bring people? I might ask the girls, they all fawn over Brody whenever it is a group event, it's been a while since we've all been out.'

'The harem? That should be fine, Michael's booked out the whole top floor, Brody's parents are paying. The more the better, as long as they've, you know, met Brody before.'

Santana feels a little twist of pleasure, because Brittany's technically met Brody before, and so she could invite her. It is unlikely Brittany would be able to get over, but at least it's an opportunity show her that Brittany is still Santana's number one choice.

Kurt seems to read her mind.

'Brittany too, if she wants. It'll probably only be the first hour or so in the bar, then we can go our separate ways, so you can seduce Brittany in an alley, or whatever you ladies do.'

Santana cuffs him around the head, because she and Brittany are far classier than that. 'Maybe Quinn too, though? Because if me and Brittany do get distracted, and Michael gives you a lap dance, that way at least Quinn can keep Rachel occupied.'

Kurt hums in agreement. 'A fine plan. Quinn is also good at de-weirding Rachel, so if Berry does have a moment, we can throw her at Quinn. Perfect, in fact.'

Santana drains her coffee, and stands, wincing as her feet re-acclimatize to the pressure.

'Excellent. This Saturday, then, no? I'll make some calls. Mind your phone, Kurt.'

She does enjoy a scheme.

…

* * *

Quinn has spent a month not thinking about Rachel.

She's also spent a month getting herself off, thinking exclusively about Rachel. Rachel who is completely unavailable, and completely a bad idea.

She also succumbed to temptation, and googled the Swedish film Santana had made her watch half on, and streamed it one lonely afternoon when she was sure Ashleigh was not around.

It really didn't help that the brunette left her nice man, in the end. It hadn't helped either, that Quinn had never seen sex between two girls filmed in such a way before. The porn that Steve had requested she watch with him (two weeks before Quinn had broken up with him) had involved overly made up women writhing about in a very odd manner that Quinn hadn't found sexy in the slightest.

Quinn has decided that this is just a phase. People crush on their friends all the time. And sure, so her sex drive suddenly does seem to have found an extra setting, all of a sudden, but that doesn't have to mean anything.

It is a…compliment, maybe. One that Rachel never needs to find out about. But she certainly isn't imagining Rachel in any degrading or compromising positions. It's usually Quinn who is on her knees, as it were, while Rachel tells her how hard and how fast and when…

Quinn clears her throat abruptly, because she really doesn't need to be pursuing this line of thought in the library, of all places.

If Quinn found out that Rachel was pleasuring herself while thinking about Quinn, she would have no objections what so ever. In fact, she'd be…delighted?

She'd be turned on. Fuck it, she appears to be permanently turned on, at the moment. Maybe this is what it feels like to be a teenage boy. Or Santana.

Quinn turns the page in her book, even though she's absorbed nothing from the previous page, or chapter, for that matter. She just hopes that if she keeps gamely playing along with normality, her body will tire of its current obsession.

After ten more minutes of gazing blankly at the same page, Quinn decides it is time for lunch.

…

* * *

Outside, sitting on the steps in the main square, she calls Santana. A girl from a class Quinn attended last year catches her eye as she jogs across the space, and waves quickly at her. Quinn grins, and then the call connects.

'Hey loser. I'm at work.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at herself, because obviously Santana's at work. It's mid week lunch time, Quinn knows.

'Oh sure, sorry, you shouldn't have picked up, it's nothing.'

Santana holds her phone away from her mouth for a second, and appears to yell something at someone who Quinn just makes out as being called Fabio. Then she returns.

'It's fine, Fabio the hopeless can actually do me a favor for once.'

Quinn winces, 'Poor Fabio. I don't want to put anyone out.'

The lines gets quiet for a second, and then Santana speaks again.

'It's only Fabbo. He's a useless shit; feel nothing for him. I don't even know what his real name is.'

Quinn frowns at the air, for a moment. 'So why do you call him Fabio?'

Santana sighs. 'I forget. It would have been something funny though. Anyway, I've locked myself in our supplies cupboard now. What's up?'

Stalling, Quinn stares blindly over the quad, wondering how she anticipated this conversation would go. Did she think that Santana would be able to guess that Quinn is calling purely because she wants to check that crushing over friends is totally normal and fixable?

Besides, if she was looking for that sort of reassurance then Santana was the worst person to pick, seeing as her friendship crush on Brittany has resulted in the two of them becoming unofficial life partners.

What had she been thinking?'

'Hello? Quinn?'

'Hi, yes, no, nothing's up. I guess I was just bored in the library, and wanted some distraction. How's everybody?'

Quinn doesn't know who this everybody is, but maybe Santana will mention Rachel, who Quinn hasn't heard from in nearly three weeks.

'Yeah, yeah, fine. I'm glad you rang, actually, this means that we can use your credit. What are you doing this Saturday?'

Reaching automatically for her planner, Quinn frowns. 'Umm, I think there's a draft of an essay I said I was going to submit to my tutor for checking…'

Santana interrupts. 'Incorrect. You're coming here, okay? You can stay in Julia's room, she's away for the week. I'll change the sheets, and even hoover.'

Quinn feels her face twist at the concept of sleeping in someone else's bed. 'But my essay…?'

Santana sighs. 'We have this thing called email now Quinn. It's important that you are here; has Kurt spoken to you yet?'

What? Quinn stays silent, unwilling to commit herself to whatever this is, (New Haven feels safer, at the moment.) After a second, Santana starts speaking again.

'Okay, clearly not, long story short, before my supervisor gets back. Brody birthday, this weekend. Surprise party thing, Rachel not been told to prevent her from doing a Rachel and 'accidentally' telling him. Everyone's invited, you included. You need to be there because you are talented at managing Rachel, okay, because she doesn't do surprises well. Also, for fun, yeah? We haven't been out dancing for ages.'

That's a lot of details for Quinn to try and process at once. Santana seems to take her silence as an acceptance.

'You can bring Ashleigh, as long as you guys don't mind sharing the bed. Or one of you could have the floor, I guess.'

Quinn laughs at that. 'Okay, nobody is sleeping on the floor at your place.'

Santana swears at her in Spanish. 'Whatever, you neat freak. That settled then? If you guys get here around midday-ish, that gives us plenty of time.'

Quinn could say no, she realizes, as long as she comes up with a plausible excuse. She's probably got about half a second.

'Okay, well, been great chatting to you. Ring me if there are any problems and you remember how to speak, Quinn. Gotta go now, check Fabs hasn't set anything on fire. See you Saturday.'

Quinn stares at her now disconnected phone for a moment, and then sighs to herself. That had not been the planned outcome of calling Santana at all.

She should avoid it.

…

* * *

Rachel finishes early on a Wednesday, and gets to travel home before the rush, which is an unmitigated luxury.

She was hoping for a bit of time to herself, at their apartment.

She had been considering getting in touch with Quinn. Calling her, maybe. Rachel hadn't heard from her since the soup messages. Rachel had sent a message a few days later, something mundane about the tv show that she had been watching, but hadn't heard anything back.

Rachel isn't used to panicking about her friendship status with Quinn, but that is what she has been doing, these past few weeks.

And so a phone call, just to say hi, can't possibly hurt.

But when she opens the door, she can hear music playing, which means Kurt's here.

Calling Quinn without the apartment being complete empty is out of the question.

'Hi Kurt! Why are you here?'

Kurt appears around the corner of his door, looking pleased to see her.

'Finished all my errands early, so I came home. I'm glad you're here! We need a catch up.'

…

* * *

Okay, so Kurt is asking her really weird questions about Brody.

She really doesn't know why everyone seems suddenly incredibly focused on her relationship and underlining how wonderful it is. She is aware Brody is lovely. She doesn't need all the memos.

'Kurt! What is this, an intervention? I'm sure that any children Brody and I ever produce would be very cute, yes. But that certainly will not be happening any time soon.'

Kurt levels a steady stare at her.

'Would you marry him? If he asked you? Can I design the wedding?'

Rachel probably looks at Kurt like he's gone mad.

'Okay, whoa there Kurt, I'm marrying no-one, right now. My dads have only just recovered from the last attempt.'

Kurt waves his coffee spoon at her airily. 'Oh, not right now. But in the future. Could you see yourself marrying him?'

Rachel scrunches up her face. 'I…maybe? This feels a bit premature. We're certainly not in a financial position to be thinking of marriage, besides anything else.'

Kurt looks at her with a raised eyebrow. 'Okay, so not marriage. You would like to live with him, though? Wake up with him every day?'

That wouldn't be…bad, Rachel supposes. She just doesn't understand where this is going. She nods, cautiously, and Kurt's face splits into a wide grin.

Shit. Wait. Is Kurt considering moving out? Because… that would explain the sudden line of interrogation on living together. He's hoping that Brody will just take Kurt's place on the contract.

Rachel is not okay with this.

'But I live with you. I can't imagine not living with you now. Who would I watch trashy tv with?'

Kurt reaches across to take her hand, shushes her. 'I know, it'd be painful. We could live tweet it, maybe? But anyway, Brody's birthday this weekend, no? What are the plans?'

Rachel's really confused now, because she could swear she'd already had a conversation about this with Kurt a couple of weeks back. She eyes him suspiciously.

'Well, like I said… I thought we could just go somewhere quiet, have a meal. Just the two of us.'

Kurt nods vaguely, seemingly only half listening. He then produces a leaflet out of nowhere.

'You should go there. Santana knows someone on the management, she can get you a discount. And, ahh, Brody was saying the other day how he hasn't had tapas for ages.'

Rachel squints at it, and then looks at Kurt, startled. 'He was? But… really? You mentioned this to Santana?'

Kurt rolls his eyes at her, as if Rachel is being spectacularly obtuse. 'Yes, duh. Do you want me to ask Santana if she can put a word in, get you a good table? Say, seven thirty on Saturday? For the two of you? I don't mind.'

Rachel cannot seem to get her balance in this conversation, no matter how hard she tries. She fills the gap by frowning at Kurt, who smiles gently at her after a second. 'Come on, it means you haven't got to hunt around. This is a recommendation, and Santana will deal with it, she probably gets some kind of commission, knowing her. I know you're crazy busy right now.'

Rachel's suddenly exhausted, she doesn't know why. She picks the clearest route of escape she can see.

'Umm. Sure. Thanks Kurt. I am quite tired actually. I think I'll just go…' Rachel motions vaguely at her bedroom door, and Kurt nods understandingly.

'Of course sweet-cheeks. You just let Auntie Kurt deal with this.'

When Rachel gets to close her door it's a relief.

Her sheets smell of Brody. She rolls away from his side, searches for sleep.

…

* * *

Ashleigh is pressed into her side, squashed in between her and Santana, in the cab.

'Okay, just promise me, girls, not every man who works in musical theatre is gay, right? Because I've _prepared_ for this night, do you know what I'm saying?'

Quinn rolls her eyes at her, while Santana grins.

She'd been doing the right thing, and trying to calculate how to get out of this event, for the entirety of her afternoon in the library. But then all that had been for nothing, because Santana, the sneaky bitch, had messaged Ashleigh on Facebook, and here they are. In a cab. In New York. Heading to a party Quinn really shouldn't attend.

Ashleigh and Santana get along weirdly well. Probably because Ashleigh can be pure filth, when she wants to be.

Quinn's dressed down, is probably only just smart enough, really. Somehow she was hoping it would make her less nervous, as though nothing of significance could possibly happen. Nothing _is _going to happen.

She'll be able to go home, soon.

…

* * *

Brody had his suspicions, when Rachel had explained that Kurt had recommended it, because this place had been one of his favorites during his first year in New York, and it had just seemed too much of a coincidence.

He hadn't said anything though, because he didn't want to tempt an anti-climax.

But when the maître de double checks at his name, and then starts ushering them upstairs to the floor that Brody knows is only used for group events, he can't help it, and presses his lips to Rachel's ear.

'Thank you baby.'

Rachel looks at him with a very confused expression, and seems to be about to ask a question. But then they're let into the darkened room, and Brody's grinning even before he hears the first yell.

…

* * *

Quinn _hates_ waiting. She _hates _the surprise part, the tension. She stands around to one side, because she isn't really part of the collection of friends who are actually waiting for Brody. She feels like a hanger on, someone who has just talked their way into a place they shouldn't be.

It doesn't help that Ashleigh is clinging to her arm and giving a running commentary of who's hot and who's not. So far every boy seems to be hot. Ashleigh and her boyfriend have broken up on a more permanent basis, it would seem.

Santana and Kurt are closer to the front, having the privilege of actually feeling like they belong here. A couple of unspecified girls are here too with Santana, one of which Quinn thinks she vaguely recognizes from the apartment.

She feels like she's having heart palpitations.

A second later, and the lights are being thrown on, and everyone is yelling. Brody is immersed in a forest of bodies, and Michael is hoisting him up onto his shoulders, so Brody can lean down and hi-five people.

Rachel's standing to one side, blinking really quickly with a fixed smile. Quinn wants to go over to her, but doesn't want to risk sensory over load, on Rachel's part (or possibly her own), and so just waits. After a moment, Kurt rushes to her and scoops her up, hugging her quickly. He murmurs a few things in Rachel's ear, and Rachel smacks him on the shoulder a few times, laughing in a way that doesn't look quite right, but looks close enough.

Quinn still can't figure out whether now is the moment to go over, but Brody is completely the centre of attention, and Quinn feels a bit safer, a bit more like she can take a step forward.

After a moment, Kurt catches her eye, and then leans down to Rachel, pointing towards Quinn. Rachel blinks, and Quinn can tell that Rachel takes a really deep breath, before looking at her.

…

* * *

It's Ashleigh who is hugging her, Rachel recognizes after a second. She remembers to say the appropriate things, she hopes, but her head is still ringing and this is all a bit much and she'd really like to sit down somewhere quiet, for a moment.

She's looking at Quinn, over Ashleigh's shoulder, who's approaching her slowly, like she's a cat that's just been spooked.

'Hi Quinn.' Rachel finds herself taking Quinn's hand, when she's close enough, because this is someone whose calmness she trusts. Quinn smiles at her, after a second, and Rachel had forgotten, it would seem, what Quinn's smile looks like.

Their fingers link, automatically. And Rachel knows then, with a wave of realization, that she really is in trouble.

'Hi Rachel.'


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you for all the feedback, I'm glad people are enjoying what I'm doing :)**

* * *

Everyone in New York is hot.

Like. Everyone.

Ashleigh really enjoys nights like this.

Nights out with Quinn are always pretty good fun, because Ashleigh likes watching how many people stare at Quinn, and fall in love with whatever they think she is. And then Ashleigh gets to throw an arm around Quinn, and maybe kiss her on the cheek, before death glaring whoever is perving over her friend.

And they automatically walk away thinking that Ashleigh is sleeping with the hottest girl at Yale.

(Which Ashleigh knows is _insanely _shallow, but whatever. It was either that or develop a complex at how literally every eye would look at Quinn.)

But anyway, nights like this, where Ashleigh doesn't have a fucking clue where they're going, and most people here are people she's never going to see again, are extra awesome because Quinn's role in their friendship is to be the designated driver of Ashleigh's life.

So Ashleigh gets to party hard, as long as she doesn't lose Quinn.

She's doing shots, she realizes. With someone attractive called Michael. And the Brody boy. The one that all the fuss is about.

These are two very handsome individuals. And so, Brody is taken, by Quinn's soup girl, but as far as Ashleigh can figure, it's open season on Michael.

Ashleigh would quite like to get to know Michael. Because a) he's hot, and b) he's not the dickhead in New Haven.

'So. Michael. Are you gay?'

Brody laughs big at her, because yes, she is hilarious, and then punches Michael on the arm. 'I have warned you about those shoes, man!'

Michael just winks at her, and motions at the bar more shots.

'Straight. Just well groomed.'

Ashleigh raises her empty shot glass at him, in a toast, and tips it for the final drop. Success.

…

* * *

Santana tuts at Quinn, like it is her fault.

'Okay Quinn, just saying, your girl is making moves on the boy that Kurt has earmarked as his future husband.'

What? Quinn looks up, trying to see through the gloom. Her first instinct is to look at Rachel, but she's chatting to people she doesn't recognize. Eventually her gaze settles on Ashleigh, and she rolls her eyes.

'Ashleigh is not my girl, San. You invited her, remember? And also, I think Kurt's future husband is pretty straight.'

Santana leans heavily into her, and once again Quinn realizes that she's the sober one. She'd like, just one time, to be able to use the excuse of alcohol herself. She shifts slightly on the bar stool that she's been perched on for what feels like forever, and runs a hand though her hair, sighing.

Santana plants a foot on either side on Quinn's, and in another language this counts as straddling.

'Umm. San? What are you doing?'

Santana drapes an arm over each of Quinn's shoulders, and leans into her. Too close. 'Want to make her jealous? I'm here for you, okay?'

Quinn laughs after a second, and places a hand over Santana's mouth.

'Oh, _that's_ why you invited Ash. We're not together, San. At all. Though I appreciate your dedication _to_ and obsession _with_ getting me laid. Truly. You're a wonderful friend.'

After a second, Santana rolls her eyes, and shifts away from her.

'Okay, although you could do worse. And have done worse. Just sayin'.'

Looking over at Rachel suddenly seems to be as automatic as blinking. When Quinn does, she could swear that Rachel looks away from her at that moment.

'Worse than who, exactly? You, or Ashleigh?'

Santana shrugs, and takes a big drink from her bottle. 'Either. You know how I feel about this. You are too attractive to not be getting some Quinn, if we ignore your tedious personality for a second. Seriously, how long has it been? I'm worried you're going to seal up.'

Quinn rises, suddenly not okay with this conversation.

'I'm going to the restroom. And you're disgusting when you're drunk, for the record.'

…

* * *

Quinn doesn't need to be in here, but locks the cubical anyway, and leans on the door.

She's freaking out. As if Rachel will know. As if it's painted big in her eyes.

Rachel hadn't really looked at her at all. Not after the first minute, when she'd reached for Quinn like she'd be drowning, and Quinn was an unexpected life line. But something in the linked hands had frozen the moment, crystalized it, until Quinn had looked away, frowning at herself for being so stupid.

They'd managed a minute of small talk, aided and abetted by Ashleigh, until Rachel had looked down at her feet, and murmured something about circulating. She'd left Quinn alone with a tonic water for the next hour and a half, with only Santana and various other overly friendly strangers seemingly taking it as a personal affront that Quinn wasn't having a brilliant night.

Fuck, she is so bad at parties. She can't drink properly, because when she's like this the alcohol just makes her into this crazy angry drunk, who'd no doubt end up shouting at Rachel for having the audacity to be attractive.

She'd go, if she was being honest, but even if she could get Santana's keys off her without too much fuss, Ashleigh was clearly gearing up for a big one, and Quinn isn't sure how comfortable she feels about Ash and Santana being in charge of each other.

Quinn sighs, and presses at the bridge of her nose for a moment, before attempting to pull herself together.

She's fine.

It'll be fine.

'Quinn? … I know you're in here, I saw you come in?'

Oh, for _fuck's sake._

Easing the catch back, Quinn tries to look like she hasn't just been caught hiding. She even moves to wash her hands, to continue the pretence.

'Hey. You having a good night?'

Rachel looks at the floor for a moment, and then stands at the basin next to Quinn, checking her reflection. She's wearing a little black sweater dress, and looks like two thirds of her body is leg. Quinn doesn't really know what to do with that visual, or that thought, and so makes like she's also concerned with her reflection.

Rachel sighs after a moment. 'Brody's happy so many people came. He doesn't see as much of his friends as he'd like to, these days.'

Quinn ignores that Rachel's answer doesn't really address her question, and makes herself smile.

'Have you gotten over the shock, yet?'

Rachel purses her lips for a moment, and then rests her hands on the edge of the basin.

'I think…I was just really looking forward to a night with him. We haven't had much time together since… since the job, and everything.'

Quinn is not sure what to say that, and so hums vaguely in agreement. Rachel catches her eye in the mirror for a second, and Quinn fights the urge to bite her lip. Rachel smiles, shyly.

'I'm glad you're here though. You're a good part of this.'

It's unfair, really, the way that her breath seems to catch, just by looking at Rachel. Rachel stares at her for a second too long, in the reflection, and this is feeling inevitably familiar now.

Quinn has to get out. They've exchanged about three and a half sentences and she's already picturing pushing Rachel up against a wall.

There's a thump against the door, and then Ashleigh staggers in.

'Woo…quinnquinn! We're off, yeah? Different bar, one with a dance floor, Michael's invited me. And everyone else. But mainly me. Brody and Mrs Brody are going, so… oh hey Rachel! You're supposed to be out there, come on, let's go…'

…

* * *

Kurt isn't having a tip top time.

It is fine, of course. Clearly, Michael wasn't the one. Clearly, Michael has a thing for overly friendly big busted brunettes with ill-advised facial piercings.

This club is louder, and darker, than the previous place. And one in three songs are ones Kurt would actually dance to, so things aren't that atrocious.

Santana bumps into him on the dancefloor, and then manages to turn that move into a full body grind. Kurt swerves away after a second.

'Whoa, okay there. Down, lady.'

Santana drapes two arms over his shoulders.

'I miss Brittany. And, sex. Think someone in here will have sex with me?'

Okaaay, really drunk Santana. 'I think nearly everyone in here will have sex with you, but that doesn't mean it is advisable. Shall we go get you some water? Before you hump someone unsuspecting?'

He finds a seat, and manages to shunt Santana into it, before passing her a bottle of water.

'Drink. I need you slightly more sober so I can yell at you about this Ashleigh girl you've invited.'

Santana nods aimlessly, and necks half the bottle. 'Sorry Kurt, I though her and Quinn were secret lovers. Turns out not, boo. Dammit, I thought I'd figured it out.'

'What out?'

'Who Quinn's sleeping with.'

Kurt blinks, and tries to find Quinn in the dark for a moment.

'Aah, nobody. I don't think. Maybe she's not.'

Santana scrunches up her face. 'But she's hot. Why wouldn't she be sleeping with someone?'

Quinn's a mystery that Kurt's never really been able to figure out. He shrugs, and attempts to move the conversation on.

'Well, it isn't Ashleigh. Ashleigh's sleeping with Michael tonight, it would seem.'

Santana pouts at him, and then runs what Kurt thinks is supposed to be a sympathetic hand down his face. 'Yeah, sorry.'

Oh, whatever. Kurt's fine. He just needs another drink.

'Come on, let's go tell Rachel how smart we are again, I don't think she fully grasped it the first time.'

…

* * *

She's not hiding from Brody.

Rachel is aware that she's found herself a dark corner, and the lights that are projecting from the machine above her head mean that most people in here won't see her.

But she's hardly hiding. Brody's right there, she would be able to see if he suddenly got worried, and started looking around for her. And then she could go over to him, reassure him.

Besides, this is clearly devolving into a boy's night out. And so, even though the rest of them are still here, Brody's only got eyes for his friends, the ones that he hasn't seen in a good while. It makes total sense that he should be preoccupied with them. He sees Rachel nearly all the time.

He looks like he's having fun.

He's such a good dancer. It's silly, sometimes, Rachel forgets that he's legitimately talented too, on his own self- projected path to success.

She's proud of him. She's also… she isn't sure.

It's hard, being in a relationship where both people are fighting towards the same goals. Rachel knows that Brody hasn't even considered it a competition. But that's probably a luxury reserved for the person who's winning.

NYADA keep them on books, do a great deal of the touting of their talent for them. Rachel just has to turn up to the auditions. And she knows that rejections are par for the course, that Brody had hundreds.

But soon, she won't be with NYADA anymore. Soon, she's supposed to just do all of that herself.

Rachel knows that the really lucky ones get signed up with companies before they've even graduated. She just doesn't know why it hasn't happened to her.

The song switches, and the change in pace nudges her out of her thoughts, thankfully.

Kurt is weaving through the crowd, Santana in tow. The dance floor looks full, Rachel's glad she's not in the middle of it, because even with these heels, she feels small.

She wonders where Quinn is. Rachel can see Quinn's friend, draped all over Michael, which means that Quinn can't be far away.

Rachel really just wants to go home.

…

* * *

It really isn't Quinn's fault that she's two drinks drunker than she planned. But this entire evening feels like one long mistake, and if she is going to have to be up all night with these people, she's at least going to end some kind of barrier to numb the pain.

Ashleigh appears by her side, and loops an arm through Quinn's, and Quinn almost smiles at her, before remembering that somehow, this is Ashleigh's fault.

'Hey Q. Brody's friends are talking about going to someone's apartment for more, are we going? Michael's going. I think we should go.'

Quinn rubs a hand over her face.

'No, I don't want to. Where's Santana? I need sleep.'

Ashleigh pokes her in the cheek with a finger. 'Santana's coming. Come on, grump. They have weed.'

Quinn groans, and wags a finger in Ashleigh's face.

'Seriously, I really don't want to, okay? I'm going to get the keys from Santana, otherwise I'll just fall asleep in this apartment you're all going to.'

Ashleigh looks at her for a moment, and then slings an arm over Quinn's shoulder.

'How would you feel about sleeping at Kurt and Rachel's tonight? I mean, Michael's just sleeping on someone's floor tonight, I thought maybe I'd offer him a bed?'

Quinn's face twists. 'Santana's okay with you just dragging a man back to her place? I mean, that might be stretching her hospitality a bit.'

Ashleigh waves a hand. 'Yeah, and besides, Rachel's been making noises like she wants to bow out early too, but Brody clearly wants to keep partying. So you can go sleep, and Rachel can go home without having to bring the party crashing to a halt.'

Okay, that sounds like a terrible idea. Quinn blinks at her surroundings, and sees through the gloom Kurt heading over towards her, Rachel in tow, determined expression on his face. He stops a foot away from her and doesn't look at Ashleigh once.

'Fabray. We're heading back to ours, and Santana's just told me you are apparently in need of a bed. Coming?'

What, is this some kind of conspiracy that she's involved in now? Rachel eyes her helplessly, and shrugs slightly, as if to say _this isn't the outcome I'd anticipated either._

Quinn cannot figure out how to get out of the proposed (terrible, terrible) plan, and so nods, after a second.

…

* * *

Rachel is angry. With almost everyone.

Quinn's… Ashleigh could have just called it a night when Quinn did. That way Quinn could be sleeping in the place she actually wants to sleep.

Kurt could have warned her about this, because Rachel would have been one hundred percent fine with Brody just going out with his friends. This entire elaborate scenario needn't have happened.

Brody could have… well, Rachel isn't sure what Brody could have done, but nevertheless, she reserves a right to be angry with him.

Santana could have not invited Quinn.

Or something. Rachel doesn't know what she wants altered about this scenario, but she doesn't want Quinn sleeping on their sofa. It makes her feel …unsettled. Because she knows that she has a double bed, and Quinn is probably expecting an invite to share.

Any sane person would offer to share. Especially because they've shared beds before. Particularly because her and Quinn are supposed to have settled and moved on from the… from Brittany's party.

Instead she's forced to be mute, for the entire cab ride back, because she isn't sure how to say anything normal. Thankfully, nobody seems pretty talkative, and after five minutes Kurt tips his head sideways to rest it upon Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel clutches at her bag like it is her final straw.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Quinn's profile. She doesn't need to look. Rachel knows what Quinn looks like.

…

* * *

Thankfully, at their apartment, Kurt throws her a lifeline.

'Shall I get my spare blankets out of the cupboard, Rachel? We could leave them out on the couch, just in case Brody shows up here in the early hours.'

Rachel nods mutely, and then realizes that she hasn't spoken since they left, and this is beginning to look a trifle odd.

'Good idea! He'll appreciate that, I'm sure. I'll tell him. Message him. Though he might not check his phone. But if he does. He'll know!'

Quinn bites her lip (since when did Quinn do that so frequently? Rachel feels like this is a sudden, new addition to everything that Quinn is), and pushes herself up off the couch, where she'd been perching, easing her shoes off.

'I'll sleep in here. Seriously. It's Brody's birthday night, I'm sure that he'll want… time with Rachel.'

Kurt laughs before Rachel has to even think about what to say in the face of that announcement.

'I'm not sure whether Brody's going want anything other than a horizontal surface, by the time he leaves, but whatever, I'll let you guys decide that. Here, Rachel, come and grab these…'

Rachel follows Kurt into his room, and wordlessly receives an armful of blankets. Kurt places a pillow on top, and looks at her for a moment.

'You okay there, Rach?'

Rachel nods, looking away. After a second Kurt sighs, and leans into her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you, it was a mistake. You can shout at me in the morning, okay? Now go be nice to Quinn, it isn't her fault.'

Kurt looks so concerned, that Rachel forces herself to smile.

'I'm fine. Just a bit tired, I guess. You sleep well, okay?' Rachel frees one of her hands, and reaches for Kurt in a side on hug, which Kurt accepts gratefully. He rests his chin on top of her head, and Rachel can smell his cologne, the same on he always wears on a night out.

'Remember Quinn will need clothes hon, okay, all her stuff is at Santana's.'

Rachel nods like she had already thought of that, but as Kurt shuts the door on her, she isn't sure how to go about offering. Quinn's standing aimlessly in their living space, next to the couch.

'I will sleep here, Rachel. It's enough that you're letting me invade your space, so I really don't think…'

Rachel just nods, too tired to figure out the rights and wrongs of what she should do, and dumps all the blankets on the couch.

'Sure. I'll just go get you some clothes. Hang on.'

…

* * *

Rachel changes in her room. Quinn changes in the bathroom.

Rachel could just go to sleep now. The door is shut. She's already said goodnight. She doesn't need to go and check that Quinn's got everything that she needs. Or offer her a hot chocolate. Or anything like that. Really. Completely unnecessary.

She knows exactly why she opens the door.

…

* * *

They end up watching the television, in the small hours of the morning. Rachel isn't even sure what is on, because she's not watching the screen.

She's watching Quinn.

Quinn's in her clothes. She's wearing the NYADA hoodie that Rachel had bought in her first year. It's slightly too small, because Rachel had accidentally shrunk it in the wash, and it means that Quinn's wrists are showing.

Thankfully, Rachel had some full length pyjama bottoms that she could give to Quinn, she's not sure how Quinn would react to being handed some of the tiny shorts Rachel prefers to wear in bed.

Rachel leans over, to put her mug on the coffee table in front of them, because there's no way she can pretend that the dregs aren't stone cold, by now.

Quinn glances at her, and from the blush on her cheeks, Rachel knows that the attention she's been paying to Quinn hasn't gone un-noticed. Rachel knows that any rational, normal person, would now, go to bed. If she lingers any longer it is going to become blatant.

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing wants to come out, until she's just staring at Quinn, without even trying to hide it.

Quinn looks away from her, but raises the corner of the throw, that she's been using as a half blanket since Rachel placed the hot chocolate in front of her. Quinn raises the corner and just looks at her.

Rachel slides over, until the blanket has covered both of them. Rachel finds it's easier if she just moves quickly, doesn't think about everything. She rests an arm across Quinn's stomach, tucks herself into Quinn's side until her head is resting on Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn sighs slightly, and lifts her hand to touch fingers to the back of Rachel's hand. Rachel can feel her heartbeat, now.

She's so warm.

Rachel doesn't need to think. Just be here, with Quinn.

When Quinn rubs her fingers up Rachel's arm with more purpose, Rachel shivers, and then tips her head up, and presses her lips to the corner of Quinn's jaw. Quinn's fingers still, and withdraw, as if she is realizing what a horrible mistake this is, but Rachel kisses her again, moving down her neck until she finds the steady flicker of Quinn's pulse.

Quinn is motionless, as if nothing is happening, but when Rachel noses into her neck, and parts her lips, Quinn takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes.

Rachel knows she should stop.

When Rachel's touches her tongue to Quinn's skin for the first time, Quinn's fingers grapple for hers, and she breathes out, slow.

'Rachel.'

Rachel moves her hand, so they're palm to palm, and squeezes fingers tight. Quinn moves her head, so she can look at Rachel, except this tiny distance is useless for everything except kissing, so that's what she does.

She kisses Quinn. She's _kissing_ Quinn.

God.

Quinn kisses her back, after a moment, pressing lips and squeezing at her hand until Rachel opens her mouth, to find oxygen, and then Quinn kisses her bottom lip, before running her tongue over it.

Rachel wants to… she wants. She settles for opening her mouth wider, touching her tongue to Quinn's, gingerly.

Quinn moans quietly.

Rachel leans back for a second, startled. For half a moment there's a danger that reality will remind her why this isn't supposed to be happening, but Quinn's looking at her with flushed cheeks and lidded eyes, and Rachel hasn't really got a chance.

This time, when she kisses her, Rachel moves, pushing the blanket to one side until she's kneeling above Quinn, touching a hesitant hand to Quinn's cheek. Quinn reaches up towards her, and suddenly wraps an arm around her waist, until Rachel realizes she could be sitting on Quinn, so why on earth isn't she?

She feels powerful, kneeling like this, a thigh on either side of Quinn's hips. Rachel shudders when Quinn's hands graze the back of her legs, and then over her hips, and she presses herself down, instinctively. She's the one who moans, this time, but it echoed half a second later by Quinn, who presses herself up towards Rachel, until Rachel's arms wrap up around Quinn's shoulders, pulling her ever closer.

Quinn's mouth is hot, and wet. Rachel slides her tongue inside, and the action seems to make Quinn rock up into her, squeeze at her hips.

She needs friction.

Quinn's hands slide up her back, underneath Rachel's top, and Rachel's gasping, suddenly desperate for Quinn hands on her, on her breasts.

She breaks the kiss, but doesn't retreat, just stays pressed close, resting her forehead on Quinn's. Quinn blinks at her after a second, and Rachel runs a hesitant hand over Quinn's shoulder.

'Sorry.'

Rachel doesn't really know what she's apologizing for, apart from future misdemeanours, but Quinn seems to understand, and nods, slightly.

Rachel looks at Quinn. And then shifts her hips forward, in a manner that can't be disguised as anything else.

Quinn bites her lip, and looks down at the non-existent space between them. When she looks back, her pupils are completely blown, and Rachel can't help but smile slightly, and kiss her gently.

She rocks again, and after a second feels Quinn try to press up into her. It can't be close to satisfactory for Quinn, but Rachel's pretty sure that this could get her off.

Quinn Fabray is going to make her come.

The thought makes her swear, and Quinn dips her head, licks a line up Rachel's neck. It makes Rachel swear again, and her hands go to the back of the couch, searching for extra leverage. She rocks her hips again, and again, until she feels Quinn's teeth on her neck, biting once and then sucking hard.

The noise she makes is obscene. Rachel reaches around for one of Quinn's hands, and presses it blindly to her breast, before dropping her head to her shoulder, hips moving faster.

Quinn is breathing hard in her ear, and pinches at Rachel's erect nipple in a manner that suggests she's a fraction of a second from losing all control. Rachel closes her eyes at the concept, at the idea of Quinn fucking her properly, here on the couch.

Quinn freezes.

It takes a second before Rachel realizes why, but then she hears it.

Keys. In the door. Fuck fuck fuck.

Rachel's legs nearly give out when she stands, but she makes it somehow. Throws the blanket over Quinn, who is already crashing sideways, searching for the pillow.

Rachel's just into her room when she hears Brody swearing softly, and mumbling something that sounds like an apology. She closes her door as quietly as possible, hoping that Quinn's answer will cover the noise.

Frantically, suddenly aware of how wet her sleep shorts are, of how easily Brody could figure out if he just touches her, Rachel dives under the covers, tries to calm her racing heart and convincingly feign sleep.

After five minutes (Quinn must have delayed him, somehow), Brody enters her room quietly.

'Rach?' It's a whisper, she can ignore it.

Brody moves carefully around the room, while Rachel fights to stay still. She can hear him removing clothes, tugging on a fresh t-shirt from the pile of his clothes that he keeps by her dresser.

He climbs into her bed, and rolls into her back, tucking his legs up so he is gently spooning her. He shifts a couple of times, snuffles once, and then goes still.

Rachel nearly bites through her lip in an effort not to cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi folks. Hope this continues to live up to expectations; you guys are lovely with your feedback :)**

* * *

Quinn runs a hand over her face, when her eyes blink open, and then she reaches for her phone to check the time.

Half seven. Her body gave her about three hours sleep.

She touches her mouth again, as if searching for evidence, and then attempts to make herself vertical. The throw slides to the floor, un-checked. Quinn sits on something awkward, and roots a hand behind her, before retrieving the tv remote. She places it silently on the coffee table in front of her.

After a moment, she gets up, walks over to the door that separates her from the rest of the world.

It's a latch lock. She could conceivably leave without telling anyone, go to Santana's, kick the door down, drag Ashleigh out of bed by her foot, and be back in New Haven by midday. Nice and simple.

She could message Rachel. When she's safely away. Something like _thank you for letting me sleep on your couch. Apologies for the almost ravishing. Btw your boyfriend probably thinks I was getting myself off while watching the shopping channel._

Quinn looks at the couch.

Fuck.

At least Brody had been half drunk when he'd walked in, because Quinn had no delusions about what she looked like. Incredibly aroused, and on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Thankfully he'd just wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes, drinking pints of tap water and eating an inexplicable slice of bread, before waving goodnight and walking into Rachel's bedroom.

It'll be fine.

Quinn moves over to her pile of clothes, fighting off mental images of Rachel, of her and Rachel, of Rachel on top of her, of Rachel _moving_ on top of her, and gathers everything carefully.

There are three toothbrushes in a cup, perched just above the bathroom sink. The sight makes her look away, slowly putting her clothes on without looking in the mirror.

In the living room Quinn carefully folds all of the borrowed clothes into a neat pile, and sits to tug on her shoes. She's got nothing with her apart from her bag, and so runs her hands through her hair a few times, checking herself in the mirror by the door. Her lips look slightly pinker than usual, but Quinn cannot tell if that's just her imagination.

Okay then. Quinn takes a final glance around, checking if she's left anything.

Rachel's door opens, and a tiny figure slides out, clad in far too short shorts. Because nothing in Quinn's life is ever allowed to be simple.

Rachel looks a bit startled to see Quinn standing by the door, coat on, and wrings her hands together, taking steps towards her.

'Hey, um, I heard you… you don't have to go. I could make you breakfast?'

Quinn closes her eyes, scared of getting lost in a daydream.

'No, Rach… I really have to go.'

Rachel bites her lip, and looks away. 'It's half seven Quinn.'

Quinn looks down at her feet, unsure why the hour means that she should stay. It could be half four in the morning and leaving would still be the correct thing to do.

'I'm… look, things are… I'm having a hard time being sensible at the moment, around you, and so space would be…probably best. For both of us.'

Rachel stares at her for a long moment, and then seems to make a decision, and takes several paces towards Quinn, until she's close, far too close.

'Is it for the best because… that's what you want?'

Quinn tries to look at something other than Rachel, and sighs, gesturing vaguely at Rachel's bedroom, where she knows Brody is sleeping.

'Rachel… I don't think I can do this.'

Rachel shrugs, and leans on the wall just by the door, so if Quinn wants to leave she's going to have to brush by her.

'I don't suppose you want to hear about how I'm not sure I can do this either?'

Quinn means to reach her hand for the door, but it ends up resting on the wall, above Rachel's shoulder. At the last second Quinn restrains herself from pressing her palm flat, but instead keeps her fingers rigid, as if that makes all the difference.

The fact that Rachel is still wearing those clothes _really _isn't helping.

'Rachel… I don't want to hear anything right now. I want… I think I should go.'

Rachel doesn't even look at her, just reaches out a hesitant hand, to readjust Quinn's coat slightly. It should be entirely innocent. Quinn would do it for Kurt, for goodness sake.

Quinn ducks her head down and presses her mouth to Rachel's, because it's only been one minute of self-restraint but she is already exhausted.

Rachel kisses back immediately, hands reaching up behind Quinn's shoulders and threading fingers into her hair. Quinn's hands drop to her hips, to those same shorts, and pull her forward slightly, pulls Rachel into her. Rachel gasps suddenly, and tilts her head, opening her mouth.

Rachel tastes fresh, and Quinn realizes that Rachel must have eaten a mint, or something, before leaving her room. Rachel had _wanted_ this. The thought makes her head spin, and Quinn slides her hand up, up the side of Rachel's body, lifting Rachel's t-shirt up until her palm is resting on bare skin, ribs just below the swell of Rachel's breasts.

Rachel sucks on her bottom lip, and Quinn has to cut off a moan. It somehow brings her back to reality, because at some point today she has to board a train with a very hungover Ashleigh, and she doesn't need to be doing that while teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

Carefully, she tries to slow the kiss, and after a moment, Rachel realizes what she doing, and responds accordingly, until they're just resting foreheads, and Rachel's hands are trying to smooth her hair, rather than incriminate her.

Rachel kisses her once more, softly.

'I'm in trouble, okay? But… I don't see why you need to be, Quinn.'

Quinn shakes her head slightly, at the suggestion, because she knows that nothing which starts like this is resolved easily. This time her hand actually manages to find the doorknob.

'Maybe. Call me, Rachel, okay? I'm not sure I can do another month without talking to you.'

It's too much, far too much, but Rachel just nods, and lifts Quinn's other hand away from her hip, where it is still resting. Rachel kisses the inside of her wrist.

'Of course.'

Quinn feels light-headed, the entire journey over to Santana's.

…

* * *

Brittany's running Wiggle Club today.

Wiggle Club is secretly the best club in the world. Brittany has plans, one day, to open an adult version, where people who have to spend most of their time in suits will pay her. And Brittany will give them lots of oversized gym wear, and tell them all that it is okay to wiggle around like a crazy person in here, because no-one is looking at them. And Brittany will demonstrate, and everyone else will join in.

She can see zero issues with this. Santana can do the math. Brittany can bring the wiggle.

'Okay tiny humans, now we be dancing zombies, ready…?'

Seriously. Even the really ass-faced people in the world, the ones who are angry with everything, they just need an hour in the soft play room.

Brittany lurches musically over to her bag, pausing only to be attacked by some kind of body popping alien child, and checks her phone for the time, because the clock on the wall is broken.

There's a message from Quinn.

_Brittany. I need to talk to you. You are not allowed, at any point, to say I told you so._

Brittany considers this for a moment, and then returns her phone to her bag. She'll let Quinn call her. Knowing Quinn as she does, Brittany decides that Quinn is likely to be in a really bad mood, if there's even the slightest possibility of Quinn having made a mistake.

Santana said Quinn was over at her place this weekend.

'Snakes, guys! We're being snakes now. They have no feet, remember!'

Maybe Quinn's been making a mess in New York. Brittany slides her way over to the ball pool, and tips a child in when they're not looking, to a scream of delight.

Quinn can definitely call her.

…

* * *

He doesn't wake until past midday. Eventually, the sun at Rachel's place always creeps round the side of the building, so it casts a shadow right on their bed, and even the most heavy duty of blinds cannot disguise the glare.

Brody sits, and musses at his hair slightly, blinking at the light. Looking around, he finds an unopened bottle of water on the table next to him, which Rachel must have left out for him. He twists the cap off and drinks slow, while performing a mental stock check.

Amazing night, though. Half of those guys he hadn't seen in over a year. Brody remembers drinking, and sitting on people shoulders, and a dark apartment that seemed half familiar. His feet ache, which does more than enough to remind him of the dancing.

He doesn't remember the entire night, but that doesn't alarm Brody too much, because his subconscious seems guilt free, and he's clearly found his way into the correct apartment. Rachel had left around one, which Brody had kind of been completely okay with, because he'd wanted to be with his friends, and Rachel had been… not awkward, but subtly broadcasting that she wasn't having a great time.

It's fine. They're supposed to have different lives. Brody doesn't exactly want to have to attend one of Santana's sleepovers. Santana may claim that they are completely debauched, but Brody has got an inkling that nail painting is heavily involved.

Pacing through to the bathroom, he detours, because Rachel is sitting at the table, with a couple of books out in front of her. Brody presses a kiss to her cheek, and squeezes at her shoulder.

'Hey. Afternoon. I wasn't annoying last night, was I?'

Rachel blinks up at him, and then smiles.

'No, not at all! How much have you forgotten? Not all, I hope, Michael will be most distressed…'

Brody laughs, and then rubs at his temples, ruefully. 'No, I've got nearly everything. Just a bit…vague, towards the end. Wasn't… was Quinn here?'

Rachel looks away, down at her notes, and puts a line through something in her notes. Brody twists his head around vaguely, to try and read over her shoulder.

'Yes. She was. Gone now though, she's got to get back. And Kurt's gone shopping. Or to a spa, he was looking pretty bleary eyed when he left.'

According to Brody's mental calculations, that means they've got the place to themselves. He hasn't got to be at the theatre until five. That's four hours to kill. He needs a shower, and food, but that's still time for… he slides a hand along the back of Rachel's neck, and strokes her hair over to the other shoulder. When he leans down to kiss her neck she smells of a different shower gel.

'And how long before Kurt gets back, do we think?'

Rachel leans away from him, and then wags a pen in his face. 'Not long enough for that, Mr Obvious. Especially with you smelling like that, thank you.'

Dammit. Brody grumbles for a second, good-naturedly, but moves away, heading to the shower. Just as he's closing the door, Rachel calls after him.

'Do you want breakfast? I'll cook whatever you like?'

Awesome. Brody leans back through the door. 'Pancakes, and you'll be the perfect girlfriend.'

The shower runs slightly too cold, and Brody frowns at it, adjusting the temperature. Other than that the signs are good.

…

* * *

It's evening by the time Quinn manages to press all the right buttons in order, and actually call Brittany.

(This is good, because Brittany's been left to consider what Quinn is stressing about for slightly too long, and her scenarios are getting way out of control. The last one had involved Quinn crashing in through Rachel window on a rope like Indian Jones might do, which is ridiculous because the last time Brittany was there Rachel had a fully functioning door.)

Brittany stares at her cell for a second, and then flops fully out on her bed, because she can already tell this is somehow all going to be her fault, so she may as well be comfy.

'Sup Q?'

Brittany counts some of the cracks in her ceiling while Quinn figures out how to say hi, and man, things must be a mess because saying hi really isn't this hard.

'Hey. How are you?'

Huh, curve ball. Brittany wasn't anticipating that one, and has to improvise wildly.

'I'm excellent. You know. Usual. How are you? Did you have fun at Santana's?'

There's a pause, and Quinn answers 'I didn't sleep at Santana's.'

Whoa. Okay. Things _have_ escalated quickly. Brittany tries to pretend like she was totally anticipating a de-brief on what Rachel is like in bed. This is tricky because none of her prompt cards had catered for this scenario either.

'Cool, cool… so. How was it? I mean, good, huh? Scary good, but first times with people are good, generally.'

Quinn frowns down the phone at her. Brittany can feel it.

'What? What are you talking about Brittany?'

Crap, maybe they didn't have sex. Maybe Quinn went straight back to New Haven because Rachel was ignoring her. Maybe… Brittany's stuck. She goes for the truth.

'Sorry. I thought maybe you and Rachel had slept together. Even though you are just friends. I'm sorry, I'm going to need some kind of hard data before I can proceed with this conversation. What is it that I could potentially say _I told you so _too?'

Quinn is quiet for a very long second, and then sighs.

'I'm not sure if I can do this conversation, actually.'

Brittany reacts instinctively. 'Aww, what, I made prompt cards and everything.'

'You made… okay, did I hear that correctly?'

Brittany scrambles up-right, and picks up a card at random.

'Yes, listen… Rachel can be kind of hard work but then maybe you like hard work, with Yale and all that, so maybe if you are in love with her then it's not all bad, it can be a project, and you know, maybe you'll pass.'

Quinn snorts a little bit, and then groans, so maybe Brittany's not in complete trouble.

'I'm not in love Brittany, things aren't always black and white.'

Whatever. Brittany whispers, in case someone on the other side of the country hears, 'Did you guys kiss again?'

Quinn pauses for too long, so Brittany knows the answer. 'Okay, that's a yes. Were there tongues this time? I mean, I'm sorry to keep fixating on the tongue thing, but that's usually the line between _okay, this is fun_ and _omg I'm turned on don't stop._ You know?'

Brittany waggles a hand around, and eventually Quinn says 'Yes. I know. I think?'

Success! Brittany roots for another prompt card.

'Okay, so if Rachel is kissing you back, which I'm guessing she is because, new flash, you're hot, then maybe you should talk to her about being more than friends.'

Quinn raises a valid point. 'I'm not sure Brody will be all that open minded about such a suggestion… actually, Britt, I can't do this right now. You're flash cards are good, but this is maybe… this feels a bit too much.'

Brittany makes a face, and then scoops up her cards. 'Can I keep them? And maybe use them when your head is less explode-y? They're color-coded, it'd be a shame to waste them.'

There's another sigh from down the phone, and Brittany feels a bit bad, because she remember how she felt when Santana kept confusing her with all of the sexing and poker-facing, so maybe whipping out the prompt cards was a bit early.

'Okay, sure. Just be normal, okay Quinn? It's fine. Do you need me to tell Rachel off for confusing you? Or just be super silent?'

'Super silent B, okay? I'll call you sometime when… I'll let you know, okay? Bye.'

Brittany squints at her phone for a second, and then drops it, lying back on her bed.

Quinn could probably do with talking to someone who doesn't make prompt cards to do serious conversations. In fact, what she really needs is to process whatever is happening with someone like Rachel, but Brittany isn't sure how well that will work, for this particular situation.

…

* * *

Brody leaves at quarter to five, smelling of aftershave and looking perfect. On his way past her to the door he stops, and sits in the chair just next to her.

She makes herself smile at him, just once, but eye-contact is hard today, so she returns to her notes.

'Hey, have a good show.'

Brody hums once, and reaches over to her, squeezes at the back of her neck just once.

'Sure thing. And, are you definitely okay? Because you've been focused on this all day – I could bring you some food back if you wanted?'

She needs space. Just a bit of space, to try and figure everything out.

'No babe, I'm fine, and you're going to run out of clothes if you keep sleeping over here. Go catch up on some sleep, I'll be okay. Kurt will be back soon.'

Brody looks like he's about to say something, but then just stands, and stretches, adjusting his coat. 'Well, don't rely on Kurt for food, remember? Make sure you eat something – I'll start worrying about you if you aren't careful.'

Rachel nods, and taps at her book vaguely. 'Only a couple more pages to go, I swear. And then I'll get something.'

Brody kisses her, as quick as a memory, and grabs his bag.

'Hope Monday morning isn't too much of a pig, then. Take a break soon, okay? Love you.'

Rachel echoes it back, and then sits, lost, the sound of the door closing stuck on repeat in her head.

This book is about the French Revolution. Once Rachel had started pretending to read, she'd had to work really hard to not let Brody see that she was reading a book that had nothing to do with anything. She'd just put it, and a pad of paper, in front of her as a barrier early in the morning, and had spent the entire day copying out random sentences.

Part of Rachel wants to google _what counts as cheating? _but she's pretty confident what she and Quinn did last night counts as cheating.

God, she'd wanted everything, last night.

Selfish.

The best thing to do, obviously, would be to send Quinn an email. A message, saying something like, _terribly sorry, moment of madness, Brody and I are too long term to throw-away, apologies for any inconvenience._

She'd lose Quinn as a friend. But she could keep Brody.

Her fathers had taught her very early on in her life that demanding too much was the quickest route to losing what she already had. Unfortunately, this does not seem to account for the fact that sometimes in life having everything is the only thing that will really do.

The kiss at the party should have been resolved by their conversation at Santana's. Rachel had not been supposed to continue thinking about it in all the weeks that followed. And she should definitely not have allowed it to flash across her mind when she was in bed with Brody.

Rachel feels horribly out of control.

And Brody is… so synonymous with her life here, she can't imagine removing him from it. The whole thing would have to come crashing down. Besides, he's _Brody. _The guy her dads love, the man her friends love, the boy she's in love with. Whereas Quinn is just… is still Quinn, but is suddenly someone who Rachel is allowed to kiss.

And so, whatever, if kissing Quinn feels amazing. Rachel isn't that much of a gambler.

And Kurt adores him. And Santana actually approves. And Quinn likes him, for goodness sake. The entire notion is ridiculous.

Rachel gets up, and walks to her room, shutting the door carefully.

Humans are animals. Sometimes, while in a long term relationship, an individual may experience desires for another person. These desires are controllable, and fleeting.

The hoodie that Quinn had borrowed from her is on top of the neat pile that Rachel had found, and carefully relocated to the foot of her bed. After a moment's hesitation, she puts it on.

She feels like someone who has made a firm resolution to not allow herself to hit the ground, before jumping off a cliff.

Quinn picks up after three rings.

'Hi.'

Just her voice makes Rachel want to climb down the phone. She's always felt a lot for Quinn, but since when has it had the potential to be all this?

'Hi. Umm. I thought maybe we could talk. Should talk.'

'Okay. Ahh…sounds good.'

Rachel sits on her bed, and then stands up, and then walks to the window, and then walks to her door, and then returns to her bed.

'Okay, excellent! Because, you know, talking is the easiest route to processing, I always find that when… certain things are happening, talking through them allows me time to assess what is actually happening. Sometimes I mind-map, although that would be a challenge to achieve over the phone, but maybe the next time you are in town we could do that?'

There's a long silence, and then Quinn laughs, the sort of laugh that makes Rachel think she was trying not to react, but couldn't fight it in the end.

'Oh god, Rachel… I'm not sure mind-mapping this is going to be very useful. But, talking is fine. What would you like to talk about?'

Rachel feels her nose wrinkle, and stares out of the window.

'The…weather?'

Quinn tuts at her, and Rachel imagines her lips, imagines the shapes that they make when Quinn speaks, tries to visualize everything about Quinn.

'Rach… I'm not sure a weather discussion is going to cut it, either.'

Rachel purses her lips at how warm Quinn's voice sounds right now, how she's speaking low and easy, as if she's right here and just whispering into Rachel's ear. She feels her own voice slow to match.

'Well, maybe…I don't want to talk about, whatever it is we should talk about? Maybe, we could just talk? I want to talk to you.'

It's half an inch away from saying _I miss you_, but Rachel's mindful that she's not allowed to miss Quinn, yet. But this is too easy. Rachel remembers when talking to Quinn used to be hard. Surely she's earned this much, at least?

Quinn hums quietly in response, and Rachel tucks herself deeper into her hoodie.

'That would be… sure. I'd like that. I like… listening to you.'

Rachel smiles wide, and then bites her lip, adjusting her seat on the bed.

'Okay, well, good, because I've spent the entirety of today reading a book about the French Revolution, for some reason, and so I have a great deal of facts to share. Are you ready, Quinn Fabray?'

Quinn giggles at her, and Rachel swears she never intended to feel like this.

'Ready. Go.'

...


	10. Chapter 10

**Continued thanks for your support on this one; knowing people are interested helps to keep me pushing along :) Someone very lovely (I am uncertain whether they want to stay anonymous, so... watch this space) has also volunteered to reverse Brit-pick for me, so hopefully my usual plethora of errors will be less noticeable!**

* * *

Kurt can tell he is tired by the way he trips over the lip of the rug that is _always_ on their floor. He flaps for a second, and only just prevents himself from sprawling completely across the hard wood floor, feet making more noise than he thought possible.

He rests, for a moment, leaning on the corner of their table while he catches his breath, and then heaves his bag onto the surface.

Everything had been difficult today. His usual train line hadn't been running, which had resulted in an extra half hour walk which he hadn't anticipated, his hangover had lingered in a most unpleasant fashion, and Tim at the office had decided that today was the day to call in a favor Kurt owed.

He really needs to sit down, and eat something. The concept of taking his coat off at the moment feels a bridge too far.

Rachel sticks her head out of her bedroom after a moment, holding her cell in one hand.

'Hello? You startled me!'

Kurt waves a weary hand at the floor, and raises an eyebrow.

'Managed to almost kill myself on our rug, sorry.'

Rachel nods, and then turns away to finish her phone call, while Kurt manoeuvres himself to their couch, and slumps in a very inelegant manner. The television remote is almost too far away, on the coffee table in front of him, but he manages it eventually.

After a couple of minutes, Rachel comes out of her room, and curls up next to him, with only a seconds' hesitation. She's wearing a hooded sweater that Kurt is sure he's not seen in a couple of years, but seems happy. In fact, it's practically radiating off her. Kurt flicks mindlessly through some of the channels, and then tosses the remote in her lap.

'What are we watching? And, I'm going to order in, I've earned serious calories today. Care to join?'

Rachel shrugs a little, and then sits up straight.

'Pizza! Pizza. I think we should have pizza. You can call.'

Kurt groans, and frowns at her. 'If it's pizza then you are calling, thank you. I cannot deal with the confusion of explaining a pizza without cheese tonight.'

Rachel looks at him with these big puppy dog eyes, but he's developed an impenetrable force field to that particular tactic, and just blank faces her until she cracks, and giggles.

'Okay, fine, hang on, let me go find the number…'

She skips, she practically skips to the drawer where they keep all the various menus that get shoved into their mail, and Kurt grins. He prefers Rachel when she's happy, the oddly sad Rachel he's been dealing with these past few weeks is somewhat of an alien creature.

...

* * *

The pizza is amazing, and goes a long way to helping him feel recovered. After five slices he finds the energy to head for his room, put on clothes more appropriate for lying around inhaling carbs.

When he returns Rachel is fiddling with her phone. He slumps next to her and pokes at her ribs.

'So? You and Brody made up then?'

Rachel blinks at him, and then goes back to her phone.

'What? We, we hadn't fallen out?'

Huh. Kurt applies some more dip to his crust, and then re-arranges slightly, on the couch.

'Oh? Sorry, just assumed something was amiss. I'm glad you're happy again, anyway.'

Rachel goes quiet, and when Kurt looks over at her she's tugging slightly, at the sleeve of her hoodie.

'I'm okay. I… is this about last night? Because I'm sorry I was a bit peculiar, there was just a lot to deal with at once, and I wasn't mentally prepared at all. I'm not angry though, everyone had a good time.'

Rachel's sounding weirdly defensive, and Kurt starts to wish he had not said anything. He gets up, and pats her on the knee.

'Well that's good, glad you had a good time. And I'm pleased you and Brody are as flawless as ever. I think there's a cheesecake in the fridge, shall we?'

He finds two spoons after only a second's rummage, and heads back to Rachel with the whipped cream tucked under his arm, because if they've come this far along the junk food chain, surely only full commitment will get them through.

Rachel seems to deliberately stuff her phone as far into her pocket as she can get it, which is a good thing because she'd been checking it every three seconds and it had been driving Kurt a little bit crazy. Kurt tries to resettle, and watches as Rachel scrolls through every channel under the sun.

(He doesn't mind that though, the laws of averages suggest that surely somewhere a watchable show must be on.)

After a moment, Rachel passes the remote back to him.

'I can't find anything. And why do you always refer to me and Brody as perfect? The pressure Kurt, I can't deal with it.'

Oh for goodness sake. Kurt wags a spoon at her, and busies himself with getting the cheesecake out of its box. 'Rachel, seriously, I'm sorry for disturbing your happy place, but the intended outcome of my commenting on the fact that you seemed really happy was not to make you sad again. Please Rach, there is no pressure. I was saying mindless things.'

Rachel frowns at him, and then makes to check her phone again, before stopping herself.

'Okay… sorry. I just… sorry. I'll try and wind in the crazy.'

Kurt laughs a little, and then pats her on the head.

'Good Berry. Think happy thoughts please, whatever made you so happy in the first place. And please tell me you are having some of this with me? I didn't ransack the store hunting for one you can eat for you to not participate.'

Rachel smiles a little, and then grins apologetically. Kurt flaps a hand at her until she rolls her eyes, and picks up her spoon obediently. Kurt flicks until he finds an old re-run of something that looks appropriately horrendous, and tugs a throw from off the back of the couch, throwing a generous corner over Rachel's feet before covering himself.

He's looking at the screen, so it is only out of the corner of his eye that he sees Rachel check her phone again, and smile.

…

* * *

It takes Santana about two days before she feels normal again.

Alcohol used to be her friend. Now it's like the family member who is invited out of duty, and then out stays their welcome by a month.

She's getting old, she decides. She'd heard about this, but had assumed it happened to other people, primarily. Santana gets through this by snarling at Fabio throughout the day until he looks like he's on the verge of tears.

The subway is crammed, for some reason, and Santana generally feels like she could happily break the neck of the next bastard who uses this as an excuse to invade her space. Her bag is too heavy, and sits uncomfortably at her shoulder, digging into her and reminding her that she'd always planned to have staff, or at least a private car, by this point in her life.

Her apartment is empty, and cold, with a mess of mail on the floor. From a glance, it looks like the usual cocktail of junk and reminders for overdue money to be paid one way or another. Santana kicks it to one side with her heel, and lets her bag fall to the floor in their hall way. She considers actually trying to make something, because good food usually improves her mood, but then remembers that she cannot make anything close to good food, and so just jams some bread in the toaster, and leans on the side, trying to regulate breathing.

In the past, she's resorted to calling Quinn, and made her talk Santana through the preparations for a meal, to reasonable success. However, in her current mood, this would probably just result in a yelling match, and those don't make Santana feel good anymore.

Brittany. She should talk to Brittany.

…

* * *

The toast is burnt slightly, not enough to allow her throw it away guilt-free, but just enough to make it very unsatisfactory.

Brittany's online, and thank fuck for that, because otherwise the next person Santana encounters is going to get it both barrels for no reason whatsoever.

Either Santana's computer is slow, or Brittany doesn't accept the request immediately, but eventually the screen changes, and there's Brittany.

'Hey San, hows… whoa, okay, bad day?'

Santana had forgotten about Brittany's ability to read moods from the other side of the country, and rubs her face in an effort to remove the indicators from her face.

'Yeah… sorry Brit. I'm better now, obviously.'

Brittany grins, and then rolls her eyes, pointing at her face, as if to say _duh, of course you are, you're looking at me_, and Santana feels herself smile in response. Brittany squints at her, after a moment.

'You didn't bite Fabio, did you? I've told you about being nice to him.'

Santana snorts, and flaps a hand. 'No more than he deserved… tell me stuff, please? What have you been doing?'

Brittany looks down at her desk for a moment, and starts gathering what looks like small squares of card.

'Ahh. Not much. Taught Jonah at Wiggle Club how to moonwalk. Just been talking to Quinn.'

Santana leans back in her chair, reaching for her phone. She glances at the screen.

'Yeah? What about – I didn't think you guys spoke very much?'

Brittany's quiet for a second, and when Santana looks, properly looks, Brittany's eyeing the pile of cards on her desk with a furrowed brow.

'Brit?'

'What? Oh, sorry. We were talking about… ah, wiggle club. And Yale. You know. Whatever it is that Quinn's doing over there. Books.'

Man, that conversation sounds like it had the potential to be hilarious. Santana smiles at pixels, and is hit with a pang of longing so hard she almost winces.

'Brit… can I come visit you?'

Brittany sits up straight, at that, and claps her hands together.

'Yeah! Deffo. The kids at wiggle club think I'm making you up, so you can come demonstrate yourself. And, you know. I miss having a bed that smells like you.'

Santana bites her lip, and wants. She checks her phone again, opening up her planner.

'I could get someone to cover my shift next Friday, and come for a couple of nights? I've still got some money left from Christmas, it should cover my flights.'

Brittany smiles happily at her. 'I'd love that, okay? And I'm sorry I couldn't get over to the Brody thing that was happening.'

Santana shrugs, because it doesn't matter, not really.

'I know. You didn't miss much, really. Quinn was being weird, and Rachel was pretty antisocial. Me and Kurt were the only ones even trying to maintain Ohio's rep as a party state.'

Brittany wrinkles her nose.

'Ohio isn't a party state, though? It is a state of, ah, other stuff.'

Santana rolls her eyes, smiling. 'Well, sure. Since you and I left, maybe…'

…

* * *

Quinn has been…odd, since NYC.

Ashleigh is more used to the Quinn who buries herself in books, or decides randomly at six in the morning that she simply must go and see the sunrise, and drags Ashleigh away from her perfectly legitimate sleeping place on the couch in order to try and cure her insomnia with hot chocolate and an enormous coat and _fresh air_.

It's pleasant, waiting for Quinn's next whim. Ashleigh knows Quinn isn't for everyone, what with the vague air of melancholy and the sneaking suspicion that if you leave her unoccupied for long enough she'll start composing poetry in her head, but Ashleigh enjoys the suspense.

Ashleigh sort of remembers the bratty Quinn that she met in first year, but things move on. High school becomes pretty easy to forget, the longer you stay here.

This Quinn, however…

She's spending a lot of time in her room. Or eyeing her phone. Or generally being oddly positive or weirdly down, or just…different. Like a familiar instrument that's been tuned half a key higher.

Ashleigh asks, finally, the weekend after their trip.

'So… are you mad with me? Because of the Michael situation?'

Quinn frowns over the top of her mug of coffee, and glances up at Ashleigh from her position at the kitchen table. She then shrugs, and goes back to her crossword.

'No. What Michael situation?'

Ashleigh worries at her lower lip with her teeth, because there isn't a Michael situation, no matter how much she wishes there was. Turns out even the nice looking boys are dicks.

'Well… I got a bit, ah, rowdy, and abandoned you in order to go and seduce a boy. Kicked you out of your allocated bed for the night?'

Quinn blinks, and then smiles at her, shrugging.

'No. It was no fuss. And technically I'm the one who abandoned you, really.'

Ashleigh eyes the crossword that is occupying Quinn's attention (and really, who under the age of forty does crosswords?), and sits opposite. Quinn looks up at her after a moment.

'The position that knowledge comes only from sensory observation. Ten letters, last one _m._'

Ashleigh suffers a horrendous flashback to the philosophy unit she dropped last year. 'Empiricism. And if it isn't the Michael situation, can you please tell me what is going on? You're different. I can't tell if I need to feel guilty or not, which is crazy stressful.'

Quinn snorts at her after a moment, and carefully fills in the blanks with Ashleigh's suggestion.

'Thanks, that works. And nothing is going on to do with you, thank you. Calm yourself. You cannot hold me responsible for your own conscience.'

Ashleigh is about so say more, but then one of the other girls wanders into the kitchen, greets them, and starts doing something distinctly worrying looking with a chicken carcass. After a moment, Ashleigh, stands, and reaches over to tug on Quinn's wrist.

'Come on. Cake o'clock.'

…

* * *

There's a coffee shop just opposite their building, and the owners are pretty used to Ashleigh using it as an extension of her living space. Not turning up in her slippers counts as making an effort.

Quinn has brought her goddamn crossword down with her, and has taken up position in their usual corner, where the big arm chairs sit next to the heating pipes.

From the counter, where she is agonizing over which muffin could possibly be considered as in line with her current diet, Ashleigh watches Quinn. Watches as Quinn pulls out her phone, checks something, and then smiles. And then _bites her lip._

Okay, so Ashleigh has been reading this all wrong. Someone on the other end of the phone is making Quinn happy. Ashleigh can definitely stop feeling like she needs to feel guilty. Instead, she can be mock offended that Quinn hasn't told her yet. This is a far improved bargaining position, and Ashleigh immediately feels more comfortable.

Quinn whenever faced with the whole world of variety offered by a coffee shop, always has a double espresso. Ashleigh has long come to terms with the fact that she is apparently good friends with the world's most boring person. Having a little romance in her life can only help things on that front.

She plonks the cup in front of Quinn, on top of the crossword. She then picks up Quinn's phone.

She has to admit, the flash of horror that passes across Quinn's face is pretty amusing.

'Give me back my phone.'

Ashleigh grins at her. 'Or what? Or I get to see head cheerleader Quinn that Santana still has nightmares about? I want to know what's going on with you and other person. Or I check your messages.'

Quinn eyes the phone, possibly calculating the effort required to vault the coffee table and elbow Ashleigh in the neck, but then seems to relax after a second.

'Okay, fine. Something is going on. I think. But it is early days, complicated, and has enormous potential to go wrong, so you'll excuse me if I didn't want to tell you. You tend to get over excited about these things.'

Outrage. Ashleigh does not get over excited about Quinn's love life any more, that incident at the charity speed dating was a long time ago, and she's learned her lesson. She leans back in her chair, and slides Quinn's phone across the table, picking up her mug instead.

'Whatever. So…'

Quinn stares at her. Ashleigh rolls her eyes.

'That was your prompt to fill me in on the _who what when where how_ side of things.'

Quinn glances at her phone, and then picks it up, putting in her pocket. She sighs, 'I think maybe we're on the _if_ page, right now.'

Baby steps are clearly required. Ashleigh steeples her fingers.

'Who is the 'we', please. Do I know him? Or of him?'

Ashleigh watches as Quinn shifts awkwardly in her seat. After a moment she gets fixed with a glare.

'If we are doing this you have to swear to not tell anyone, is that clear? Because I don't really know what is happening right now and having you blabbing this all over facebook is not going to help.'

Ashleigh clutches at her chest in mock horror.

'Okay, a) I am hurt, and b) so it is someone I know. And this all kicked off during the NY visit?'

Quinn purses her lips, and then waves her hand around a bit.

'In a sense. It had been, I don't know. It got real, then, if you like.'

She doesn't really know why this is deteriorating into a game of twenty questions, but Ashleigh continues. A thought strikes her.

'This isn't Michael we are talking about, is it? Because in which case you were totally entitled to be off with me, but on the other hand keeping me in the loop with regards to your romantic attachments would ensure that…'

Quinn cuts her off mid-sentence. 'Ashleigh. This is a girl we are talking about.'

Whoa. Okay. That opens up a new web of possibilities. Ashleigh points a finger at Quinn.

'Is this Santana? Because I've had my suspicions, but I've got to say, word to the wise, I'm not sure Santana is ever going to move on from Brittany, okay? That girl is completely head over heels for her, and so even if you have been vaguely hooking up with her, I'm not sure this is going to end in anything other than tears.'

Quinn laughs shortly, and then shakes her head. 'Why is everyone obsessed with speculating over my love life? It isn't Santana. No matter how much you think we must be sleeping together.'

Ashleigh takes another sip, and mumbles to herself, 'well you do go visit a _lot,_ I'm just saying…'

When she looks at Quinn again, Quinn is eyeing her expectantly. Ashleigh racks her brains, and realizes with a wave of concern that there's only really one girl left who it could be.

'Oh Quinn… we aren't talking about Rachel here, are we?'

Quinn frowns, and then affects an unconcerned air.

'What if we are?

Ashleigh thinks about everything that she knows about Brody and Rachel.

'Isn't… isn't the general popular consensus that Brody and Rachel are made for each other, and super serious and long term?'

Quinn raises an eyebrow at her.

'Thanks Ash, that's really useful to hear right now. So glad I shared this with you.'

Instinctively, Ashleigh holds up her hands in apology.

'Sorry, just, jeez, where's that come from? I mean, could you maybe try building a relationship with someone who isn't already taken?'

Quinn frowns at her, until Ashleigh reviews her previous statement.

'By which I mean, yay? Quinn and Rachel for ever.'

Something inside Quinn seems to un-tense, and she stretches a little in her seat. Ashleigh watches her with some concern as Quinn reaches for her coffee, and drinks, before speaking.

'Look. I know this is horrible idea, but equally I don't know how to stop it. We've been… not doing anything apart from messaging each other. It's just, she knows I like her, and I'm guessing she likes me. Is that so bad?'

Ashleigh bites at the inside of her cheek, and holds her tongue. Because the way Quinn looks now, the way she's smiles at the very concept of Rachel liking her, is enough to make Ashleigh hope that it isn't so bad.

'No, I guess not. You two fit well.'

Quinn smiles happily at this, and Ashleigh decides that her role is to not inform Quinn that this is potentially doomed from the start.

Besides, Michael had been pretty drunk. Maybe he was making up the whole thing about Brody asking Rachel to move in.

…

* * *

Quinn still isn't very sure how to do this.

They've been messaging back and forth. None of these messages seem to contain the answers to the hundreds of questions that Quinn is guarding in her head, ready to overflow.

Questions like; what are we doing? What is this, exactly? These messages are almost exactly the same as the ones we used to send, so why does my chest feel like it is going to explode?

All she knows is that at some point during the morning Quinn will get an urge to take a photo of what she's looking at, be it the way the light catches the front lawn of the main square, or the title of the lecture notes, with Quinn's own sad smiley drawn next to it. And that will result in a day long conversation which will cover nothing important but will still be the most important thing she's done all day.

Or, sometimes, Rachel will message her, with a random question or how something she's just heard on the radio reminded her of Quinn, and that'll be it again. Off again.

She can't really explain the feeling, beyond amazing. And dangerous, which lurks at the back of her mind, but what's the point of being young if you can't risk your own emotions?

Plenty of time to heal.

The message Quinn gets this morning is different.

_Been invited to a call back. Wish me luck!_

It could have been sent to anyone. In fact, it probably has been sent to multiple people, Rachel's dads, Santana, Brody.

Quinn feels like maybe it was just for her.

_They'll be idiots not to have you. Unless it is another male lead role Rach, we've talked about those._

After she presses send Quinn doesn't hear anything for another couple of hours, which is enough time to make Quinn start panicking, that Rachel didn't take it in the spirit it was intended, or that it broke her concentration and Rachel's missed her big break just because Quinn decided to send something moronic by text message.

She hears back from Rachel just as she's calling it a day in the library, having fought her way to the end of another essay.

_Didn't get it. Could you call me, maybe, if you aren't busy? Kurt's out, Brody's not around until later._

Quinn ignores the twist of discomfort she gets from reading Brody's name, and shovels all her books into her bag like the place is on fire.

She controls herself, and doesn't actually press the call button until she's back in her place, in her room, with the door closed.

'Hi.'

Quinn wants to be there with Rachel, it hits her hard.

'Hi… they are morons, you know. We have talked about this. You'll get something soon enough, and then everyone will be kicking themselves.'

Rachel doesn't speak for a moment, and Quinn is gearing herself up for another soliloquy on the amazing-ness of Rachel's performance ability, when Rachel says quietly, 'I know. They're entirely wrong. It's good though, I didn't make the first audition, they just called me. Shows that I'm… getting somewhere, maybe.'

Quinn finds herself nodding, forcibly. 'Good. Just… don't forget that, please.'

The line is quiet again, and then Rachel says 'I wish you lived closer. I feel like, sometimes my words aren't very good. But thank you.'

There's more silence, and Quinn finds herself abstractly longing for a budding relationship that can be built solely on flirty texts and sudden, passionate kisses, because she isn't sure she's made for aimless small talk.

'It's okay. And you know I'm right. Maybe one of the casting directors was deaf. And the other one blind. Honestly, you should feel more compassion for people with such an affliction, particularly in their line of work.'

Rachel laughs at her after a second, and Quinn sits on her bed, happy to have achieved something.

'You are ridiculous.'

'Sometimes. I reserve a right to be ridiculous when required.'

Quinn feels like maybe her heart is waltzing, or doing something else very peculiar, when Rachel says, 'Yes. I needed you to say ridiculous things to me. You're doing a fine job. I just… I wish you were here. Or I was there. Sorry. Too much.'

Too much from Rachel Berry would seem to be not enough, these days.

'It's okay. I'd probably come, if it wasn't for the fear of having to sleep on your lumpy couch again.'

Rachel snorts, and then murmurs low 'Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?'

Quinn blushing, because now she's thinking about being on that couch, with Rachel above her, moaning into her mouth with every squeeze of Quinn's hands on her breasts. She's re-visited that memory enough, these past couple of weeks. She doesn't need to do it now.

She can't help it.

'It clearly had a big impact on me, having to sleep on it. I can't seem to stop thinking about it.'

This is dreadful, dreadful flirtatious talk, but Rachel hums at her after a moment, and says 'me neither' in a way that almost has her booking train tickets.

Almost. Instead Quinn changes topic, anxious to preserve sanity.

'So when is Kurt back?'

Rachel clicks her tongue, and the voice she uses now is an almost complete contrast.

'He isn't. He's staying at a friend's. Brody's coming over, it's a rest day for him, apparently he wants to cook for me. I can't see that working out too well.'

The messages back and forth between them have never touched on Brody, because it really isn't what Quinn wants to hear about and Rachel never volunteered information. Quinn doesn't know how to respond to Rachel's announcement about her romantic evening at all.

'Oh. Okay.' Part of her want to tell Rachel to call it off, call the whole thing off, and come lose herself in Quinn's bed for a few days, but Quinn doesn't know how to do that, doesn't even know if that is the best idea for both of them.

_Hey Rachel, why don't you throw away your solid, stable, happy relationship, and come see me? I think I might quite like to kiss you some more. Beyond that, I'm not sure what I'm even doing right now._

She wonders if everyone feels this out of control, or if this is a brand new emotion, invented and created solely for this particular dynamic she has going on with Rachel right now.

Rachel saves her.

'Sorry. I don't know why I even mentioned that. I'm an idiot. I'm sorry.'

Quinn smiles grimly, and hangs on, for just a bit more.

'We're both idiots, maybe, Rach? We've got to be about equal, right now.'

Quinn can imagine Rachel nodding. She isn't prepared at all, however, for the quiet 'I miss you', that comes down the phone. She clenches her fingers tight in the comforter.

'Me too.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Next one! For everyone asking why Rachel is being an idiot; hopefully this one explains things a bit more. Although, to be fair, sometimes people are just idiots :)**

**sosaysthelipless is the lovely person who has been beta-ing for me; if it is a significant relief for you, then go say thanks ;)**

**Thanks for reading guys.**

* * *

Kurt has very kindly offered to stay away for the night. Brody suggested Kurt slept in Brody's unoccupied bed for the night, but Kurt seemed to freak out a little at that, and instead made his own arrangements.

He wants tonight to be the perfect night. It's felt like a long time since he and Rachel managed to be perfect, what with one thing and another. They've been a little… out of synch. Partly because of the role, he knows, but also Rachel's been busy, he guesses. Distracted, somehow.

The idea is, of course, that when they live together, it'll be easier to see each other. They'll just be together, no dashing one way or another across the city to find time to spend together, fitting each other around everything else.

Brody has been here since six. Rachel has been kind of busy in her room. The fact that Brody turned up wearing one of his best shirts seemed to throw Rachel into a panic, and Brody thinks she's in there trying to match his outfit.

Brody, meanwhile, is in charge of dinner.

He'd found an apron hanging inside a cupboard, which suspiciously seemed to co-ordinate with all of their dishcloths and oven gloves, but Brody had donned it anyway, concerned for the cleanliness of his shirt. The only real thing he's got to do now is blend the soup, but he's taking no chances.

He's setting the plates when Rachel emerges.

She looks gorgeous. Brody finds himself blinking several times, trying to take it all in. She's wearing a long sleeved dress, that doesn't show any skin, but is so tight he doesn't need to use his imagination at all. Her only concession to the fact that they aren't going out on the town are her lack of heels. She's bare foot instead. It only seems to make the whole picture sexier. Brody wolf whistles.

Rachel rolls her eyes at him, and flaps a hand, dismissing his appreciation, before pacing over to the speakers, and plugging her IPod into the dock. Brody slides up behind her, and kisses her on the cheek, before just staying there, breathing in Rachel's perfume. After a moment Rachel turns into him, and kisses him firmly on the mouth, before looking down at their two bodies.

'Well, I was trying to coordinate with your colors, but I hadn't anticipated you wearing our apron for the evening.'

Brody grins at her, and tips forward to touch his nose to hers.

'You could see if one of the oven gloves could be incorporated into your outfit? Or I could take the apron off, your call.'

Rachel presses at his shoulders after a second, and he spins obediently, so Rachel can unknot the strings behind him. After a second Brody tries to catch her eye over his shoulder.

'Having you take off my clothing isn't how I'd anticipated this evening starting…'

Rachel snorts, and pokes him in the small of the back.

'Come on, what have you burned for me?'

…

* * *

Rachel's quiet, as she eats. Brody chalks this up to the fact that both his starter and main dish are delicious. He quite happily fills the gaps by recounting some of the tales and experiences from his new job. He mentions how his cast mates ask after Rachel all the time, he thinks she'll like that.

Rachel smiles and nods and asks after his mom, and Brody almost makes an enquiry about her day, because he isn't very good at keeping secrets.

Instead he ends up ignoring her question, and reaching across the table to grasp her hand. Rachel looks up at him, startled.

'My mom's fine… she thinks we should spend more time together.'

Rachel frowns at him, and then shrugs her shoulders.

'Well, if your mom is offering to do some of my course reading and critiques… or do a couple of shows for you? She'd love that, actually…'

Brody just looks at her, for a moment, watches as the smile plays over her lips as she visualizes his mom on the stage, twirling with the best of them.

He really wants to wake up with Rachel. Every day. He wants Rachel spend her time fussing about how the throws on their couch are sitting, and to fill up their bathroom with inexplicable tubes and tweezers and pots of cream. He wants to not have to slog all the way over here after a show, to fall asleep with her.

Maybe he's being selfish. He knows Rachel is happy living with Kurt. But sometimes he feels like he's entitled a bit of selfish. How else do things move on?

He squeezes at her hand.

'We could spend more time together if all of our belongings were in the place, huh? That way neither of us would have to leave.'

Rachel nods absently, and flexes her fingers beneath his, eyes somewhere over his shoulder.

'Well, yes, that would certainly be more convenient, although it would be pretty foolish to keep two places if all of our stuff is just in one place…'

'Maybe we shouldn't, then. Maybe we should have one place. Together.'

Rachel seems to zone in on him, after a second.

'What? What, you mean… what?'

Brody squeezes again, maybe subliminally he's also trying to do this morse code.

'We should get a place together. I want to live with you.'

He realizes he's nervous, when Rachel just blinks at him for long moments, lips parted.

'What? Are you… are you serious?'

Brody grins, and nods, trying to demonstrate that this isn't a hypothetical scenario.

'Yes. I've been looking around, and as long as you were willing for a place slightly smaller than this cavernous space, we could afford somewhere closer to Manhattan. And I've run it past Kurt, and he's happy to look into finding a different apartment, or we could all live together if it's really important to you. But I'm hoping you want to just be with me, Rach, that way you could walk around naked, which would be completely okay with me.'

Okay, so possibly the naked line was slightly too far, but he's nervous.

Shit, he'd planned on being suave. Rachel's not helping matters at all by just sitting there, staring.

'Rach?'

'But… how would we afford this? Finding money for the deposit, money to buy out our current leases, money to move… I haven't got any of that.'

'My parents want to help, that won't be a problem. And I've only got a month left on my lease before I have to sign again, and Kurt says there's only two months and a bit left on yours.'

Rachel blinks at him, and makes to move her hand away.

'You've told your parents? You've spoken to Kurt?'

Brody tips his head to one side, shrugging. 'Yeah, I mean, I wanted to just sound Kurt out, to check it wouldn't cause him any major problems, I don't want him to be inconvenienced. He says he could find somewhere, if necessary, and he'd be visiting every other day, regardless. I know you'd miss him.'

Rachel eyes her cutlery, and pushes her plate away from her slightly.

'I… how long have you been thinking about this?'

These aren't quite the squeals of delight Brody had been anticipating. He frowns, uncertain.

'Since a while, I guess. It makes sense, we both want to stay in the city long term, and we're ready for it, aren't we? There's no point being stuck in limbo. Come on Rach, why aren't you excited? Anyone would think you didn't want to live with me…?'

He's joking, teasing her a little, trying to get her to snap out of whatever mood she's in. He knows she's not great at new ideas. She tends to need a little adjustment time.

Rachel scrunches a napkin, and presses it to her lips, eyes bright. When she put it down she's smiling and she squeezes back at Brody's hand, for the first time.

'Oh my gosh, of course it's exciting. I'm just, well, trying to be practical, I guess. You've had a lot of time to work this idea around your head, but, I mean, wow.'

Brody grins at her. 'So that's a yes, then? If all the practical side of things can be settled? You'll live with me?'

Rachel swallows a couple of times, and then nods her head. Brody doesn't care that she isn't looking at him, but at her plate, because he knows she's just trying to keep her emotions in check. They're going to live together. Brody stands, and leans awkwardly over their plates, to press kiss to Rachel's cheekbone, and then her mouth.

When he sits down again, he's managed to get a stain on his shirt from his plate, but he really doesn't care.

…

* * *

They wind up on the couch, and Brody throws an arm out towards her, and pulls Rachel in to him, so her head is resting on his chest. He runs gentle fingers through her hair, and she sighs, after a moment.

The film he's brought over for the occasion is The Notebook, which Brody remembers watching with a previous girlfriend, who'd seemed to cry with joy throughout the entire thing. Brody doesn't remember much about it beyond the endless discussion of feelings, but Rachel likes discussing feelings, so he figures it can't be far off the mark.

Besides, every girl in the world has seen this film at least once, which means they don't need to get concerned with following plot, if they get a little…distracted.

He runs a hand down her arm, and he really can't keep it in any longer.

'So…today. The call back? Did you get a good feeling, do you think they were impressed?'

Rachel lifts her face, and squints at him.

'How did you know I was auditioning today?'

Brody grins at her, and presses a kiss to her mouth. He murmurs against her lips 'I may have suggested you? I know one of the casting assistants…'

Rachel sits up straight, pressing one hand to his chest.

'I thought they'd just heard about me. I thought, I don't know, people were starting to notice me. But, you organized it?'

Brody nods, and smiles, soothingly.

'Yeah, he did it as a favor to me. So? Did they say when they'd tell you?'

The hand that is pressed flat to his chest tightens, and then lifts altogether. Rachel moves herself away from him, to the other end of the couch.

'I didn't get it. They told me I wasn't right. But I had thought that that was okay, because at least I had been in the running, at least they'd heard about me. But now….dammit Brody, what is wrong with you?'

Rachel is pressing her lips together, like she does when she is really angry, and Brody sits up, startled.

'Hey, it's no big deal. I was rejected all the time too. It doesn't matter. I'm sorry I mentioned it, here, come here.'

He pats the cushion next to him, suddenly anxious to put this entire incident behind them, but Rachel stands up instead.

'You can't just do that Brody. It's… I'm not okay with you going behind my back like that. I don't need you to do that for me.'

Brody squints at her. 'What? How is this going behind your back? You… I was doing you a favor? It's hardly crime of the century. Now sit down, will you? You're being ridiculous.'

Rachel scoffs at him, suddenly frantic out of nowhere. 'I'm ridiculous? You're the one who… I mean, who do you think you are, really? That you get to just decide to hand out roles to people, on the basis of whether they sleep with you or not?'

Okay, what the hell? Brody thinks about standing up too, but adding more drama into this is hardly likely to get them anywhere.

'Rachel. Seriously. I know you are disappointed, but you are being unreasonable right now. Next time I'll ask you before I do something for you, okay? Now, I'm just going to sit here and watch this crappy film, and you can decide when you're done with whatever this is.'

He doesn't know what he's done, but Rachel is all over the place at the moment. And he remembers the pressure of reaching senior year and not having anything lined up for the future, but he's pretty sure it didn't cause him to lose all rationality. Brody stares resolutely at the screen, and let's Rachel do whatever she needs to do to snap the fuck out of it.

…

* * *

This isn't how it usually goes. Usually Rachel starts the sex.

They had been sitting, frosty silence, on the couch. Rachel has been playing with the corner of the throw and trying to remember that it was legitimately her right to angry, because Brody had been way out of line, arranging a call back for her. She isn't some kind of charity case.

Rachel has not been thinking about the fact that she was being a complete bitch to Brody for no reason other than her pride was wounded, and she wanted to be by herself. Or the fact that this was not how this was supposed to go.

Or that she'd just said yes to living with Brody.

She just needs… a bit more time. She's been happy with Brody for nearly three years. She's been…overwhelmed with Quinn for three kisses. How is anybody supposed to make a rational judgement on the basis of such limited data?

Rachel is not feeling rational.

In fact, if she thinks about it for long enough, the anger that she is feeling starts turning into guilt.

Which is why, when Brody turns to her, and tugs her over towards him with a look on his face which is _almost_ demanding, and kisses her firmly without smiling, the easiest thing to do is to lose herself in it.

…

* * *

He's still good at it. Sex. She just doesn't quite… until she thinks of someone she shouldn't, and then she does.

…

* * *

Afterwards, Brody lifts his head from her chest, and looks into her eyes.

'Are we okay, Rach?'

Rachel nods, and sighs, and lifts two hands to slide down his jaw line, so that Brody smiles and kisses her again, gentle this time.

Because that's easy. Being okay is easy.

She just isn't sure if she wants _just_ okay anymore.

…

* * *

There's an email in Quinn's account from Rachel when she wakes up that morning. It says it was sent at two thirty am, which seems to indicate that it must be a message of some significance.

_Hi._

_I'm struggling with this, at the moment._

_Not because of anything you are doing, god knows I'm completely the one at fault here. But, I'm having a problem figuring out what we are doing, other than turning into friends who kiss each other._

_It is coming up to three years with Brody. Three years in which I have been very content, excluding the last month or so._

_And you… the idea of you and me makes me feel so much more than content. But this is brand new. How am I supposed to see into the future? I don't know what this is leading towards._

_It's late. I'm talking nonsense, and this is really an email I'll almost certainly regret the second after I press send, but. Do you think we could be something? Something that means more than where we currently are? I can't figure out if I'm just being a moron, and risking hurting someone who is important to me for a crazy infatuation with a girl who is… I don't know. Does this just feel easy because it is you and me, and we're good friends?_

_Part of me keeps saying be sensible. Because the last time I rushed into something because it felt right at the time, I nearly ended up married, and you nearly died._

_Oh god, I'm just going to press send._

It's a lot, too much, almost, at once, and Quinn reels a bit after, having taken in nothing except _I'm struggling_ and _just being a moron_ and _sensible._

She re-reads, carefully, and then goes to make breakfast, and then re-reads again.

It's on the second piece of toast that Quinn decides she isn't qualified to deal with this. For goodness sake, this is the sort of discussion you have with close friends _about_ the romantic dilemma you are involved in. Trying to have it with one of the main parties in the dilemma is unlikely to garner unbiased advice.

She considers sending an email back that says _I don't know either, I can't predict the future, I don't know how happy you are with Brody, I don't know whether we could work as a relationship, all I know is that I can't stop thinking about you, _but decides against it.

Instead she picks up her phone.

_Not fair, Rachel. If you are looking for a declaration of love to make everything easier, I'm not providing it._

She gets into the shower, and when she returns to her room, carefully wrapped in a towel, there's a message waiting for her.

_Is that necessary, Quinn? I wasn't fishing for anything, I just need to process this with someone, and I don't know how Kurt and Santana are going to react. Everyone else up here doesn't know you, or us._

This could quite easily turn into an argument, Quinn realizes, because she'd be lying if she said it hadn't been bothering her, and she isn't the one trying to maintain the pretense of a happy relationship. And she doesn't want to argue with Rachel.

Instead she just sends _Try Brittany. You'll be surprised how good she can be at this._

…

* * *

Brittany is rearranging the magazines on her shelf so that the spines make a rainbow.

This is in honor of her favorite gay lady, her favorite everything, Santana, who arrives in…. thirty seven and a quarter hours.

And like, so what if Santana never notices or compliments Brittany on her décor choices? It matters that Brittany's done it. And it might seep into Santana, like that osmosis thing which Brittany thinks is something to do with potatoes, from what she remembers about Biology class. Seep into her so that Santana knows she is super welcome. And not at all resembling a potato.

Brittany's just deciding whether or not to put out a selection of sweaters to force Santana to wear, so that she has clothes that smell of her, when her phone rings.

Huh. It's Rachel.

'Hi Rachel. Sup?'

Rachel clears her throat, momentarily.

'Quinn thinks I should speak to you.'

Oh gosh, progress. Brittany does a little skip up and down, and then sits on her bed.

'Okay…about what?'

Rachel speaks cautiously, the way Brittany does to Lord Tubbington when he has kidnapped Brittany's laptop mouse.

'Well… she won't tell me… how much do you know, Brittany?'

Brittany is totally unprepared for a pop quiz, but her laptop is on, and she could just google the answers, if needed.

'Everything. I know everything.'

'What?' Rachel seems startled, and enquires further. 'You really know everything? How?'

Brittany eyes her laptop, checks its connectivity, and then puts her cursor in the search bar, prepared.

'I have my sources…'

There's a pause, and Rachel asks, as if probing for quicksand, 'You know everything about… me and Quinn?'

Oh. Brittany types Rachel's name into the search engine, but all she gets is a load of links to NYADA and a few reviews and McKinley stuff. She turns away, admitting defeat.

'Well, ahh, I don't know everything about you two, I mean, I could guess the basics, like, you sometimes secretly worry that you'd be in Slytherin, and the only thing that Quinn has ever completely failed at is learning to juggle.'

'Brittany! I would not be in Slytherin, I am very compassionate to those less fortunate than myself, and… actually, this isn't relevant. I mean, how in the loop are you? With regards to Quinn and I, as a combination?'

Brittany goes back to her bed, because she had guessed that things were leading up to this, somehow.

'I'm, aware of the loop. Just not all the details, because Quinn's no good at details, or, you know, words, sometimes.'

Rachel hums a bit in agreement, and there's a pause in which Brittany can only assume that Rachel is imagining Quinn, and everything that she is very good at. She coughs after a second, and it seems to spark a response from Rachel.

'So… you are aware of the concept of Quinn and myself. As a romantic item.'

Brittany nods, remembers Rachel can't see her, and then says 'Yes. That concept has been in my radar since I saw you two kissing at my party. Which was pretty cool. And just pretty, you guys have lovely faces.'

This seems to make Rachel hesitate for a second, and Brittany rushes to fill some more gaps.

'I mean, no stress. I told no-one. Like; zero. Although if Santana had directly asked me whether I saw you two kissing, I'd have probably told her, but she hasn't, she doesn't really ask questions like that.'

Brittany listens to more silence for a few seconds, and vaguely scans her room for anything that could possibly be a hidden microphone, because Quinn has impressed upon her the need to everything to be hush hush, and Brittany does not want to experience Quinn's angry face. As a precaution, Brittany tugs the comforter up and over her head, so she is tented inside.

'Rach?'

'Okay, so, if it is okay with you, I really need to talk to someone about this. In fact I have a great deal of words that just need to come out, so if you could just be on the end of the phone, and then maybe help me process at the end, that would be much appreciated.'

Brittany wonders whether Rachel has prepared her own flashcards for this. Maybe she's typed up a speech. Brittany lifts the corner of the blanket, stretches for her banana, and re-adjusts.

'So, that's cool, but make sure you breathe, because sometimes your words can run into a long sentence, and I can't put in the punctuation fast enough.'

Rachel breathes in deep for a second.

'I will endeavour to maintain good enunciation throughout, however I guarantee nothing. As you are aware, Quinn and I kissed at your party. I enjoyed this, although I am uncertain who really started it. Since then we have kissed twice more. I will not bore you with the details, beyond the fact that they were spectacular. However, as I am sure you are aware, Brody is very nice, and we have been together for a long time. I am struggling to justify ending things with Brody purely because there's a chance of something with Quinn. And equally, I'm not even sure Quinn is open for a relationship at this point; she's never really struck me as the romantic type, and it would be foolish in the extreme to end a perfectly good relationship for the mere possibility of a relationship with someone who doesn't even do relationships. But I really like kissing her. Which means I've cheated on Brody. In both thought and deed. And I'm also apparently now going to live with Brody; I don't know how that happened. But no one knows that. Don't tell Quinn. In fact, tell Quinn none of this, please?'

Man, Brittany hates it when people paragraph at her. It's like, when the flight attendants say blah de blah, here is your life jacket, blah de blah, don't try and open the windows, Brittany zones out after ten seconds. The last few times she tried to put her hand up to ask questions, but whoa, that wasn't a hit.

She snaps the top off her banana.

'You like kissing Quinn? I mean, that's a given, that's like saying, you like oxygen, but you do, huh?'

Rachel sighs. 'Yes. Very much.'

'But you don't know whether you could have a relationship with her? Or she could have a relationship with you? And Brody is a decent guy, so you want to play it safe?'

Brittany wonders whether she could be an advice columnist. That might be her field.

'He's a good person. Compared to my previous track record in men, he's amazing. And I don't want to hurt him.'

Brittany takes a mouthful of banana, and chomps thoughtfully.

'Well, kissing people behind his back isn't exactly ethical. Like, I'd be hurt.'

Rachel lowers her voice, and Brittany wonders if Brody is in her apartment. Wow, that would make this whole phone call even worse.

'I know that Brittany. I never… intend to end up kissing her. It just keeps happening.'

Brittany rolls her eyes.

'Sure Rachel. There's like, and sudden gust of gravity and you fall and your lips accidentally land on her mouth. That happens all the time.'

There's pause, and Brittany decides to clear things up.

'You've already fucked up, Rachel. It's not as if you have to decide whether to hurt Brody. It's about whether you want to carry on hurting him.'

Rachel's voice goes all whispery. Brittany feels a bit bad, but then, what, she's supposed to say cheating on people is totally fine?

'I just…can't stop thinking about Quinn.'

Brittany presses her lips together, because Quinn deserves to be thought about all the time.

'Does Brody feel right, since you kissed Quinn?'

Brittany knows the answer, but Rachel probably needs to say it out loud.

'No…it's nothing like her.'

Aww. Brittany feels her nose scrunch up, despite her strict anti-cheating policy, because aww, you know? Rachel and Quinn. It would make an awesome conclusion.

'Maybe you should see her. Like, on an unofficial date, thing. Soon, before you can think more cheating thoughts. To figure out if you really want to properly date her, rather than just kiss her a lot? And then, if you do, dump Brody. Nicely. Gently.'

Rachel answers immediately.

'But what if she doesn't want to date me? What then?'

Wow. Brittany rolls her eyes, because clearly dating Brody for this long really has numbed her romantic senses.

'Rachel? Since when do you play safe? You were the one who was always singing really loudly in everyone's ears about love? You can't fall in love without risking heart hurts. That's like, the first rule of love. In fact, I think that is the moral of every romantic film, ever. Love can punch you in the heart. And then you get to kiss attractive people.'

Rachel sniffs at her, and Brittany can imagine her sad little wobbly face.

'Thanks Brit. I mean, I still don't know how to get out of this mess, but you help, you know?'

Brittany brightens up, and tugs the comforter off her head, because things were getting stuffy. Maybe she's fixed it. Maybe Rachel might actually do something.

'Oh, you are welcome. I'm going to be an advice columnist. Can I put you down as a reference?'


	12. Chapter 12

**Once again, thank you for reading and review. In particular, those of you who leave in-depth reviews regularly as anonymous people (jock, I'm looking at you) because I can't thank you individually, please accept my thanks here instead! :)**

* * *

'Q? Are you awake? Quick, I'm getting on a plane.'

Quinn makes a noise, and checks the clock on her bedside table.

'San, it's half past five, why do you hate me enough to call me at this time?'

'Shit, I haven't got time to list all that. So you're awake?'

Quinn sits up, and turns on the bedside light, squinting.

'Awake, yes. Aware… not so much.'

Santana blows some air at her, and then there's the sound of an announcement, too tinny to be understood. Santana sighs in relief.

'Ahhh, finally. That's me. So listen, Brittany thinks you want to go spend some time in Brooklyn; something about you and Rachel not getting along too great? I don't know if she's just invented this, but; my room is free, if you need it. You've still got my spare key from the last time, and I've told the girls you might be there.'

It's too early for this. Quinn pushes some hair out of her face, and tries to figure out what is happening. What has Brittany said to Santana?

'Rachel and I are the same as usual San, I don't really see why…'

Santana cuts across her, and it now sounds like Santana has pressed her phone between her cheek and her shoulder in order to lift something.

'Oh, whatever, sometimes Brittany's psychic vibrations get the wrong end of the stick. It's available anyway, okay? If you want to go shopping or take some photos of tourists taking photos. Whatever it is you like doing. But I'm going to Brit's for the weekend, so it is all yours. Please don't hook up with any strangers in my bed.'

Quinn snorts at her, even as she rolls her eyes.

'Santana, I don't know where you are getting this twisted view of my love life, but…'

'Yeah, yeah Nun Fabray, don't need your life story. Later.'

Quinn glances at her screen for a second after she realizes the phone line has gone dead. There's a message waiting from Rachel.

_Thanks for the advice. Brittany certainly is good to talk to._

Quinn could have sworn that usually, before all this, Rachel would have signed that message with a smiley face. Or an exclamation mark. Or a kiss. Quinn is not sure how she feels about contributing to this less excited Rachel. Maybe Rachel's right. Maybe this is a bad idea for everyone.

There's another message. This one is from Brittany.

_I'm being helpful now, by the way. Go see Rachel. Decide if you want to risk having your heart beaten up for some happiness._

Quinn closes her eyes, and tries to salvage what is left of her sleep in.

…

* * *

She really shouldn't go, Quinn decides. The list of arguments against it feels endless.

Brody offers Rachel everything that has always seemed important to her; love, support, faithfulness. Brody thinks she's talented and wonderful, and understands the world she is trying to immerse herself in. These things are valuable.

Rachel is supposed to be graduating in a few months' time, and pursuing a career full time. Quinn can't help but feel that she has probably been nothing but a distraction, this past month.

Quinn doesn't know what she is doing next year. Her grant application has been submitted to the post-grad office, but Quinn doesn't even know whether she wants it. Maybe it is best to get out now. She'd be able to find a job anywhere, she's sure of it.

Quinn's track record in relationships is horrendous. She's always been happiest when she's alone, without the pressure of being perfect all the time. She doesn't even know if she can do a happy relationship.

And this…feeling is not one Quinn thinks she has experienced before. She feels less than rational, as if constantly thinking about Rachel is numbing her senses, blurring her thought processes, until Quinn cannot tell if she acting ethically, or selfishly. It is debilitating, somehow, and Quinn feels uneasy, like the ground keeps pitching in a rhythm she can't quite grasp.

She really shouldn't take up Santana's offer. In fact, it would be self-indulgent of her to go. Rachel might not even want to see her. Maybe long-distance flirting is one thing, but turning up on Rachel's doorstep would be quite another.

She shouldn't go. That's the answer.

Quinn comes to this conclusion as her train pulls into an all too familiar station, and Quinn stands up on auto-pilot, reaching above her head to tug her backpack from the overhead shelf.

The central station is always busy, and Quinn finds that she can't walk in a straight line for more than seven paces without having to dodge left or right, succumbing to forces beyond her control.

_The best laid plans_, she thinks, ruefully.

…

* * *

Rachel can't help but feel like she is living in a daydream.

On the outside, she's moving in with Brody. Kurt had hugged her. Brody had told his parents. Rachel had announced that she would only be moving _if _all of her posters were coming with her, which Brody had very graciously conceded to.

On the inside, she's breaking up with Brody. And kissing Quinn.

It's ridiculous. Her mind ends up in these half-baked fantasies that always seem to involve Quinn turning up to a show with flowers, and sweeping Rachel off her feet, and the two them happily ever after-ing off into the future, with the odd pornographic detour.

Rachel firmly reminds herself that Quinn is thus far a completely unknown quantity as far as a romantic partner goes, beyond the kissing, and they might be terrible for each other. They probably are terrible for each other. Quinn might leave toast crumbs in bed, and be sarcastic when Rachel wants to watch bad television.

She's moving in with Brody. This is a symptom of… some kind of cold feet.

Rachel worries that her daydreams are becoming increasingly elaborate, but never seem to fully address the moment in which Rachel leaves Brody, because she has realized that she prefers a daydream Quinn to a real Brody.

How on earth can a real _anybody_ match up to day dream perfection?

So instead Rachel daydreams. Now, when she sings, Quinn is at the back, in shadows, watching her. It certainly adds a little…flavor, to proceedings.

She's on the subway, heading back to the place that has to stop being her home, soon, thinking about Quinn.

And then firmly reminding herself that infatuations pass.

And then thinking about Quinn.

When Rachel emerges, blinking in the midday sun, her phone beeps.

_I'm in New York. Meet me somewhere?_

Rachel feels as if her heart is going to fall out of her chest. _Meet me somewhere? _It's half a request, half a demand, and she's flustered, thinking about how Quinn might _need_ to meet her, to the extent that she cannot possibly afford to give Rachel the chance to politely decline.

Something tired in her brain tries to wave, and say that this is probably not a good idea, but she's out of self-restraint.

Besides, friends meet up. Where's the harm?

Rachel looks down at her gym gear, and then dashes home to change.

…

* * *

Quinn's nervous.

She's drumming on the table in front of her, when she realizes that this must be really annoying for everyone whose heart doesn't have a bpm matching the pace of her finger tips, and so stills. She folds her hands in her lap, but even that isn't enough, and so rests her elbows on the table in front of her and cups her chin.

This coffee shop is one of the first ones her and Rachel met in, during their first year away from Lima. Quinn thinks Santana was there, she isn't sure if that came later. It is just on the outskirts of Manhattan, not really close to where Rachel lives at all. Quinn thinks Rachel might have been nervous, and trying to impress her with how metropolitan her life had become. It feels like a long time ago.

The crowds outside the window look comfortingly anonymous. They could be anywhere. They could be anyone.

She almost didn't message Rachel. She almost stayed in Santana's room for the whole day. It was only after coming to the conclusion that she wasn't _that _much of the coward did Quinn actually pick up her phone.

After another two minutes of nothing, Quinn reaches into her bag, and digs out her book. She has read it several times, which means she can skim whole pages at a time and still have a vague notion that there is a story line, somewhere.

Every time the door opens she looks up.

The time that Rachel walks in, Quinn looks up, looks back at her book, looks again in order to check it actually is Rachel, stares at her book while she tries to decide whether to acknowledge Rachel or pretend she's really cool about the situation and isn't looking out for Rachel at all, then remembers she's traveled for over two hours to come and see Rachel, and so playing it cool isn't going to convince anyone, half stands, half waves, and almost collapses with relief when Rachel just grins at her, and then points at the counter and mimes an enquiry about whether Quinn wants another drink.

Quinn doesn't know the mime for _just an airlift out of here, before I can embarrass myself further_, and so shakes her head, and tries to collect herself before Rachel sits down.

Jesus.

Rachel, when she sits down opposite, looks refreshingly Rachel-like, which helps Quinn breath a bit easier. She knows how to speak to Rachel.

'Hi…nice to see you.'

It's the understatement of the year, but Rachel smiles, and tucks some hair behind her ear before smiling at her coffee like she understood the sentiment behind it, anyway.

'Hey, this is a surprise. A really good surprise; I nearly made a peculiar noise when you messaged me but then restrained myself because I was out in public.'

Quinn decides that one of the things that she has always very much liked about Rachel is the fact that she makes everything easy. Her emotions are always available for anyone to read, she doesn't twist words and leave Quinn wondering whether she could have come, whether Rachel is secretly sitting there wishing Quinn was far away, in a place suitably distant where a flirty text message can just be harmless fun.

Quinn wants harmless fun. She also wants… a great deal more, right now. She makes herself laugh easily, and just grins for a moment.

'At least you didn't walk into a sign post, that would have been embarrassing.'

Rachel grins back at Quinn's words, or maybe just at Quinn, and presses her lips together, looking away after a second.

'What brings you to New York?'

There are several possible answers, ones to do with needing some space, or time away from distractions to complete an essay, or a bizarre phone call from Santana, or emergency shopping, but all the correct answers are sitting opposite her. Quinn decides to go for the truth, and looks steadily at Rachel until Rachel looks back at her.

'You. You bring me here.'

…

* * *

Kurt comes home to an empty apartment, and dumps his groceries on their kitchen table. Humming a half tune, he roots through his purchases for something that he can use to create a meal.

He'd been far too hungry as he had gone around the store, and consequentially his bags are full of items that no one in their right mind would want to eat. Heavily sugared goods in lurid packaging lurk accusingly. Kurt turns away, and puts the kettle on to boil, deciding that pasta smothered in cheese surely must be less sinful than inhaling Oreo cookies.

On his second entry into the fridge, he notices the note pinned to it.

_B and I out tonight for a meal, might be back late. PS I used some of your tomatoes, I'll replace them x_

Kurt smiles at it for a second, and then checks the fridge to see if anything other than tomatoes are running low, but it looks like they're good.

It is annoying, he supposes, that he's going to have to find somewhere new, but he can't find it in his heart to be actively annoyed, as it were. Brody and Rachel living together has had a stately feel of inevitability to it ever since their six month anniversary, and the moment has always been when, not if, from Kurt's point of view. He's embraced it wholehearted, because _good lord_ it could have been Finn, and that doesn't really bear thinking about.

Besides, maybe he and Rachel have been getting in each other's hair, recently. He feels like he's permanently on a different page to her. It will probably be good for their friendship, to have a little breathing space.

The pasta boils over, somewhere towards the end of this line of thought, and Kurt swears under his breath, before almost scalding himself in an effort to not make a mess on the stove.

…

* * *

They spend the afternoon together. Rachel's giddy, entirely giddy.

They don't go anywhere to eat, but instead take the subway uptown, getting off a stop early to walk the distance to Central Park. They stop in a corner store, and buy provisions for an al fresco dinner. As the day light starts to disappear, Quinn gets cold, and so buys herself a bobble hat from a street vendor. It looks simultaneously ridiculous and adorable, particularly because, the last time Rachel checked it was nearly May, and Rachel can't help but laugh. Quinn glowers at her until she breaks, and pulls a funny face, and Rachel feels like her heart is singing.

Rachel doesn't feel cold. In fact she's never felt so warm.

Quinn pulls up short before they enter the park, and inspects the contents of the shopping bag she's carrying.

'Last chance then? Dinner outside? Or shall we be normal, and go and eat somewhere with a roof and walls.'

Rachel doesn't want to say eating outside is more romantic, even though it is, and so just loops and arm through Quinn's, and guides her away from the temptation of being normal.

'No, come on, this way is better. There's more to see.'

Quinn grumbles something good-naturedly about frostbite and pneumonia, and Rachel laughs, sliding her hand down to check the temperature of Quinn's fingers.

'Quinn, it is reasonably mild out. I don't think anyone has ever contracted pneumonia from being outside in the early evening in Central Park. In late April. In a woolly hat.'

Quinn lets Rachel touch enquiringly at her fingers, and then wraps Rachel's hand up in her own. Rachel looks down at their linked hands, and Quinn coughs nervously after a moment.

'I think I should hold your hand for a bit, to warm up. Yours is much warmer than mine.'

Rachel smiles at this explanation, and then a thought strikes her.

'Do you want to hold the other one as well? For heating purposes?'

Quinn frowns down at her, before saying 'How would that work exactly? It'll slow us down I think, if both of my hands are holding both of yours.'

Rachel scrunches up her face, because she knew that, obviously, and then decides to tuck their joined hands into her coat pocket, for extra warmth. Inside her pocket she can play with Quinn's fingers, stroke the pad of her thumb down the back of Quinn's hand. After a moment Quinn sighs, and squeezes at Rachel's fingers.

'I now look like the world's least subtle pickpocket.'

Rachel snorts, and shushes her, until they just walk in silence, through the trees.

…

* * *

She guides them to a bench, after twenty minutes, just off the main path they'd been following. When Rachel had been younger, she'd had dizzying visions of having meaningful conversations with people on every single bench in Central Park.

She'll be content if her and Quinn do nothing except talk about the weather.

She isn't going to think about Brody. Rachel doesn't have any spare space in her head for anything other than Quinn's hand, still holding hers, quite warm now.

Quinn places their provisions on the end of the bench, and then motions at Rachel to sit. She starts delving through the bag.

'Here, what do you want? We're kind of limited unless you are really desiring potato chips and dip, in which case it's your lucky night.'

Rachel pats the bench next to her, encouraging Quinn to join her, who does so after a second.

'I'm not really hungry yet, are you?'

Quinn smiles at her, and then rubs her hands together absently. 'Not really, I guess. But what do we do if we don't eat?'

Rachel shrugs, and reaches out her hands, to cup both of Quinn's, trying to protect them from the cold. She's reminded of a party, and the dizzying after-effect of a kiss.

'Talk about something meaningless, we could. Talk about which of our friends has changed the most since high school. Or the least. Or what we'd want to do again, if we had a chance to change.'

Quinn looks down at their hands, and then frowns softly.

'That doesn't sound very…meaningless, if I'm honest, Rach.'

Rachel shrugs.

'It's good to pretend.'

Quinn's fingers slide up the insides of her wrists, and Rachel feels her eyelids flutter. When she recovers, Quinn is watching her carefully.

'Is that what we're doing? Pretending?'

Rachel wants to kiss her, so much, but recognizes that some issues cannot be addressed simply by kissing the concerned party.

'I think… I think we're just trying. To see. Whether this might work.'

Quinn bites her lip, and Rachel becomes acutely conscious of how they're sat, of the warmth of Quinn pressed into her side. She changes the position of her hands, so she is touching Quinn's fingers instead, stroking the length of her index finger. Quinn clears her throat.

'And… do you think it might?'

Rachel closes her eyes, looking at Quinn is a bit like looking at the sun, all of a sudden.

'I think, it might. It's just whether… I can do it.'

Quinn squeezes at her fingers, after a second, making Rachel look at her.

'I'm scared too, if that helps. Of whether I can do this. I'm not… very good, at being in a relationship. Or whatever this could be.'

Quinn looks like she is picking words really carefully, so that Rachel cannot find false meaning or misinterpret.

It's scary, this tide of emotion she feels like she is fighting against.

Quinn must read it in her eyes, because she leans forward and presses her mouth to Rachel's.

It's so much easier, to kiss back, than to try and talk.

Besides, if kissing feels like this, maybe Rachel could do without words altogether.

…

* * *

He's into his second bowl (what?) when his phone starts ringing.

It's Brody.

'Hello?'

'Hey Kurt, sorry to bother you? Is Rachel around, I can't seem to get hold of her?'

Kurt stands up, frowning, and checks the note on the fridge again.

'Did you guys have plans, or…?'

'No, I thought I was staying late here, but something got cancelled, so I'm freed up.'

Kurt blinks at the note for several seconds, and tries to get the cogs in his brain to mesh. Brody coughs after a moment, startling Kurt in action.

'Kurt?'

'Yes, hello, sorry, something on the television distracted me. Um, she's asleep, she was complaining of a headache, went to her room talking about trying to catch up on sleep. Heavy day, apparently.'

He is over-embellishing, and brings his sentence to an abrupt halt. Brody doesn't seem to notice that there is anything wrong, and answers easily.

'Ah, poor thing. She's probably put her phone on silent. Don't worry, I'll see her tomorrow. Thanks Kurt, take it easy.'

Kurt mumbles a farewell, and then rests his phone on the table. After a minute or so he goes to check the note _again_, but there is no other conclusion beyond the one his brain is currently fighting against.

…

* * *

They end up at a subway station. One side of the platform heads towards Rachel's place. The other side heads towards Santana's bed.

They are both aware of this.

Quinn must not ask. She knows that if she does Rachel might just look at her, and then Quinn will be forced to kiss her, and then Quinn knows that she'll have taken the decision right out of Rachel's hands, because neither of them will be able to think until they're in a place with a door that can be closed, so they can both breathe and just be.

Rachel is wearing a coat that looks nothing like Quinn's blazer, in all honesty, but it still makes Quinn want to reach out and tug her towards her, so that she doesn't even have to figure out how to phrase the question, but instead can just communicate it directly onto Rachel's lips.

Quinn feels Rachel's hand grope for hers, and then they are just standing here, looking at the map of the subway line as if they don't know how to get to where they want to go, holding hands.

It's dark outside, now, or as dark as it ever gets in the city, and Quinn has a vision of this being how it is, of Quinn coming to visit so they can spend the weekend together, before she has to get back to teach a class, and Rachel can't leave because she has a show to perform in, but that's okay because there is always next weekend.

After a moment Rachel reaches for her, and hugs her, the sort of hug that lasts too long and burns, from head to toe.

Quinn can feel Rachel's lungs expand deep a couple of times, and on the third time a voice accompanies the exhale.

'I don't know what I'm doing, right now.'

Neither does Quinn. All she needs is a crystal ball, she'll be able to see in the future, see if this will be worth the heartbreak, and decide what to do.

'I'm not sure I know what I'm doing either. I mean, generally. I know what I'm doing right now.'

Rachel leans back a touch, until she's looking at her, and Quinn feels her heart clench in response.

'What's that?'

Quinn takes a deep breath.

'Being hugged by someone who I really want to kiss. But being too scared to kiss that someone because of where it might lead.'

Rachel blinks at her, and licks her lips, but Quinn continues, free falling.

'I mean, I want it to lead where I think it might lead, but equally I'm not sure if we can do this, yet. I'm not sure if I can.'

Rachel looks down, and then nearly dissolves Quinn by reaching up to brush a thumb across Quinn's cheekbone. She murmurs, following the path of her thumb with her eyes, 'We aren't teenagers, anymore.'

Quinn can't help it, and huffs a laugh at her.

'Thank lord, I was a horrible teenager.'

Rachel smiles at her a second later, and then nods, grinning shyly.

'You really were.'

Quinn bites the inside of her lower lip, and then decides that one false step could ruin everything, but a high wire has never felt so easy before.

'I want to see you. More of you. I mean, more regularly, that is. Like we have been today.'

Rachel's fingers shift between hers a little bit, and then Rachel pitches upwards, to press soft lips to the corner of her mouth, just on the line of safety.

'I'd like that. I… want that, too. It would seem I'm not very good at knowing what I want, right now, but I do know that I want that.'

Quinn doesn't know how to say _please don't leave your perfectly good relationship, I'll only fuck this up somehow_, so just mimics Rachel's kiss back, and pretends, for a little longer.

'I'll wake up in this city, if you find yourself available, tomorrow morning.'

They both know what _find yourself available_ means. Rachel nods, and takes a step back.

'Sweet dreams, Quinn.'

Quinn presses her lips together in response.

'They will be.'

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Slightly shorter than some of the others, primarily because there isn't an appropriate break for another three thousand words or so, and it messes with the flow. Hope you enjoy reading, despite the brevity!**

* * *

Kurt waits up. When it gets to ten thirty he goes to the fridge, and opens a bottle of white wine. He feels momentarily like a father must, on awaiting the return of an errant child, in which case beer would probably be more appropriate, but he can't stomach the stuff.

He's staring at the television screen, not actually taking anything in. Maybe he's misread things. Maybe there's a different 'B' Rachel is out with. Kurt wracks his brains, for the umpteenth time tonight, to try and remember if there is someone in Rachel's classes who has a name that begins with B, who could possibly merit an abbreviation in a note of the fridge.

Maybe there's a perfectly good explanation for Rachel hiding things from him and Brody. Maybe… Kurt's stumped.

When he hears keys in the door, he sits up really straight, and then slouches, and then rearranges his legs twice, because he cannot figure out for the life of him how to look normal.

Rachel looks a bit spooked when she walks in to find him sprawled half-way across the couch like a corpse, because he decided at the last moment to look as if he'd fallen asleep for some reason.

He waves a hand, and goes for bleary eyed, scratching at his head.

'Hey.'

'Oh, hi Kurt, oh my gosh did you mean to fall asleep on there, you must be tired?'

Kurt nods, inwardly cursing himself, because how is he supposed to leap seamlessly from nap-time to interrogation mode?

'Mmmph, long day… did you have a good night?'

Rachel nods, and then actually clasps her hands underneath her chin, and bounces slightly on her toes, in a move that is such a throwback to McKinley that Kurt actually feels his brain reel.

'Yes! Fantastic… I mean, yes. The food was lovely.'

Kurt raises both eyebrows.

'Brody well?'

Rachel nods absently, and then takes off her coat in a manner that suggests that this current conversation is over.

'It is bitter out though, really cold. Positively chilly.'

Kurt stands up, and follows Rachel to the kitchen area.

'So, where did you eat?'

Rachel blinks at him for a moment, and then opens the fridge.

'Oh! Somewhere we'd not been before. It was great! Uhh, excellent noodles.'

Kurt wants to be cross with her, or at the very least, a little frosty, but it is difficult when Rachel looks so happy it is as if she is struggling to maintain even the slightest connection with the floor, and a lapse in concentration could have her floating up towards the ceiling. He scratches at his chin, and then runs a glass of water from the tap, trying to steady himself.

'They must have been… so best night out in a long while?'

Rachel strokes a hand along the counter-top for a moment, and looks off into the distance.

'Mmm, best I can remember.'

He can't help a little dig, he feels like he's going crazy. Maybe she has been with Brody. Maybe he hallucinated the entire phone call; he had been exceptionally hungry.

'I'm so glad for you two, it does me good to see long term couples happy together. If incredibly jealous.'

Rachel looks down at her feet, in fact looks anywhere but him, and in that moment Kurt is certain.

'Oh shush, Kurt, it was only a meal out. I'm going to bed, okay? See you in the morning.'

Kurt tips his glass towards her in farewell, and waits for the door to click before sitting at the table.

Who on earth has been making Rachel that happy?

…

* * *

She doesn't sleep.

It's probably the adrenaline, or the stress of having to deceive Kurt, but Rachel is still wide awake at midnight, staring at the ceiling.

Her mouth seems to tingle, where Quinn kissed it.

She needs Brody. If she doesn't move in with him, there's no guarantee that Kurt is going to stay in New York, and how is she supposed to support herself alone in New York, while also auditioning for ever role that comes up?

It's the worst excuse she's come up with for a long time, and she rolls onto her side, annoyed with herself.

She doesn't want to hurt Brody. She _likes _Brody, _enjoys_ being with Brody. These are the reasons. And all this is bound to hurt him, so really she should call the entire thing off.

Her and Quinn could _never_ work, on a long term basis. Because Quinn would… or Rachel would… well, something was bound to go wrong.

Why the hell did she say yes when Brody asked her to move in? Surely that was the moment? Rachel feels like she's playing Jenga, getting higher and higher, constantly aware that she's about to kick the table.

Her phone lights up in the darkness, and Rachel reaches for it, anxious for a distraction.

_I can't stop thinking about today._

Rachel nearly bites through her lip, aware of how much it probably cost Quinn to actually put words to thoughts.

And… Rachel can't stop thinking about Quinn. About having Quinn in her bed. On top of her… or underneath her, or anywhere really. It was only after a supreme mental effort that she had managed to drag her thoughts over to Brody, and guilt, in order to dampen her ardour.

It's back, however, with a vengeance, at the thought of Quinn, lying in bed three subway stops away from Rachel, unable to sleep.

_I can't stop thinking about you._

Never let it be said that Rachel fails to communicate honestly. Rachel nearly regrets it, the second she presses send, but it is _true. _She's never been anything other than honest with Quinn.

She rolls onto her stomach, wide awake now, and cradles her phone in her hands.

She imagines Quinn kissing her neck. Quinn has done it once before, and Rachel burns with a desire to have it happen again, to know whether Quinn would use her teeth again, or be gentle and tease Rachel mercilessly.

Her phone illuminates again.

_Yeah… that's what I wanted to say, too._

Rachel feels her breath catch, and she wants, so much.

Why can't everything be simple?

_So don't. Stop, that is._

Rachel closes her eyes, and imagines Quinn thinking about her. Imagines what Quinn might be doing while she thinks about her.

God, she's turned on.

Quinn replies, after what seems like an age.

_I'm not really trying to stop, if I'm honest._

Rachel blushes, hard, because even if Quinn isn't doing what Rachel is imagining, the message combined with the mental image is all a bit much. Rachel rolls onto her side, and slips a hand, lower.

Things are easier to say, after midnight.

_Good. I'm not stopping, either._

She's wet, and this is going to be very quick.

_Rachel… you can't just… oh god._

Rachel breathes Quinn's name up to the ceiling, a minute later.

…

* * *

Santana stretches in Brittany's bed, blinks a couple of times, and remembers where she is. She rolls into Brittany's side, who accommodates her after a second by lifting her arm, so Santana can tuck further into her.

She's warm here. And not needed by anyone. And not over-thinking everything.

She's happiest here.

'Brit, when are you going to move closer to me?'

Brittany shifts under her, and reaches a hand up to stroke at Santana's hair.

'Or, you could move closer to me? We could share a bed and sleep in shifts, like Charlie Chocolate Factory's parents did, so that my bed smells like you all the time. I sleep better, that way.'

Santana presses her face into Brittany's neck, and then kisses her collar bone.

'Isn't it time that your wiggle jiggle skills came to New York? There are people there in serious need of a good shaking, I'm telling you.'

Brittany hums at her, and kisses Santana's temple.

'End of this year, San. Boss Lady keeps talking about me doing big things. I'll tell her I want to do them in New York. Easy.'

Santana isn't sure that it counts as easy, but let's Brittany's confidence wash over her anyway. She closes her eyes again, and rearranges slightly.

'I'm jealous of Rachel and Brody, can you believe that? They'll get to wake up together all the time, can you imagine? I mean, not that I'd want to wake up with Brody's chin in my face, but you know what I'm saying.'

Santana feels Brittany tense underneath her slightly, and then Brittany coughs.

'Oh? Oh, yeah, I remember now, Rachel said something about… they're going to live together? In the same house? And Rachel said yes?'

Shifting herself upwards, Santana leans on her elbows, and looks down at Brittany.

'Yeah, it's kind of cute, and completely vomit worthy. They're staying out their leases, and then looking for somewhere together. I've already told Kurt that he and his entourage of scarfs will not be living with me for any longer than it takes for him to find a new place.'

Brittany looks away, and scratches at her nose.

'I… huh. I think I heard… I mean, I thought Rachel would say no. If she got asked.'

Santana watches Brittany for a second, and then squints at her.

'Where did you hear about it?'

Brittany blinks at her.

'Twitter.'

Santana snorts, and rolls away.

'Have you been speaking to Rachel as well as Quinn now? All this communication with pretty ladies; am I not good enough for you anymore?'

She's joking, and yelps when Brittany tickles her ribs.

'Branching out, you know? I'm not a one tree woman… does Quinn know?'

Santana shrugs, and presses backwards, so Brittany is spooning her.

'Who cares, she find out soon enough. God knows her and Rachel talk enough.'

Brittany rests her chin on Santana's shoulder after a moment, and then kisses her cheek. Santana can feel her breathe, slow and warm behind her.

'Yeah… I'm sure it'll come up.'

…

* * *

Quinn wakes with a start, and then stretches lazily. She hears the shower shudder into life, on the other side of the wall, and realizes it must have been the bathroom door which woke her.

She's feeling remarkably light. As though she has no worries or concerns at all. Which is ridiculous, because any person in their right mind would have many, but she ignores this and indulges herself, for a moment.

It's happiness, Quinn accepts, after examining the emotion for several seconds. She's happy.

Sitting up in Santana's bed, Quinn leans over towards the curtain, and nudges it to one side, casting her eyes up towards the sky. The bits that she can see look blue, and she smiles, without really meaning to.

She really shouldn't be enjoying this. Quinn can imagine Ashleigh's face, when she explains that she spent a day and a half in New York, primarily just to spend a couple of hours with Rachel. However, she doesn't really need a voice of reason, right now.

Quinn sits by the window, listening to the shower absent-mindedly. After a moment, she reaches for her phone, and scrolls through her past messages from Rachel, in an act of pure indulgence.

…

* * *

The coffee machine appears to know that what Rachel has been doing, and is refusing to co-operate with her. There's a red light that keeps blinking at her. Rachel thinks it is giving her a dirty look.

Brody bought this for them. As a 'thank you for letting me stay at your place so often' present, sometime after their two year anniversary. Kurt had been delighted.

Rachel sighs uneasily, and glances at Kurt's door.

She should really speak to him. He's always been her most constant friend, particularly during their first year in this place together. He'd help her process this, because he'd understand what is at stake.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, and Rachel ignores the pulse her heart gives, and tries to reach for it calmly.

It's Brody.

_Hi, struggling to get hold of you at the moment, are we still okay for today? I've been speaking to a leasing agent, there are three places lined up for us to look at this morning. She's going to meet us at the first place at eleven, I'll message you the address in a bit. Let me know you get this, okay? X_

Shit. She'd forgotten all about Brody's grand plans for today. Rachel pokes at the coffee machine once more, her need for caffeine suddenly amplified, and frowns at her phone. The screen is now accusingly listing her missed calls over the last couple of days. There's over ten from Brody.

She doesn't _want_ to look at potential apartments today.

She wants to…

Rachel folds her arms, angry with herself, because this isn't who she is. Rachel Berry does not _hesitate._

Her phone lights up again, as she stares at it, and this time it is Quinn.

_Hi. Hope you are having a good morning. X_

Rachel makes a decision.

…

* * *

Santana's shower might be possessed. While Quinn is using it, the temperature changes three times, despite the fact that there is no one else in the apartment, and makes sinister noises throughout. Quinn turns it off with relief, the second she's rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

She tucks herself up in a towel, and walks briskly along the cooler corridor to the relative warmth of Santana's room. There's a lock on her door, which makes Quinn feel a bit securer, and she sits on her bed with the intention of sorting through her bag for clothing.

Before she does that, she checks her phone, and impulse that is as automatic as blinking, these days. Nothing back from Rachel. It's been nearly an hour.

Quinn frowns, and chides herself for sending a message. She isn't needy. She's completely fine with how everything is at the moment. She doesn't need Rachel to suddenly become available and _hers_. Quinn would only make a mess, in some way.

In her mind's eye, Ashleigh folds her arms and raises her eyebrows. In her mind's eye, Quinn tells her to fuck off and mind her own business.

Quinn rises to check her complexion in Santana's mirror, and nearly falls over herself when her phone chimes behind her.

Brittany. It's Brittany. Quinn isn't disappointed, she's just… surprised.

_Has Rachel told you that she's going to be moving in with Brody? Because she probably should. Tell you. I mean. Maybe I should tell her to tell you first, but that middle man everyone talks about can be an unreliable ass._

Quinn blinks at the screen for a long second, and then looks ahead, unseeing.

Rachel hadn't told her. Not that it matters in the slightest.

Rachel can live with whoever she wants. Quinn has no say in this.

She's…possibly concerned that Rachel felt that she couldn't tell Quinn. This is big news. If things were as they used to be, Rachel would certainly have told her.

Things are not as they used to be. That much is clear.

Quinn doesn't know what she thinks, beyond a vague, creeping sense of unease. She doesn't like secrets. They don't suit her. She associates nothing but negativity with secret keeping. The longer they're kept, the bigger they explode.

She stands, and stretches, rearranging her towel and running a hand through still wet hair. Quinn's vaguely aware that she is stalling, for reasons she isn't completely certain about. After a moment, she bends to her bag again, determined to actually dress herself, this time.

The apartment buzzer sounds, and Quinn nearly has a heart attack. She frowns, and inches towards the window to look down, but Santana lives five floors up, there's no way she's going to be able to see.

It'll be for one of the other girls. The place is empty. Quinn can safely ignore it. She isn't about to buzz up a total stranger when she's just out of the shower.

She has managed to find her socks when the buzzer sounds again. Quinn frowns, and ignores it.

Her phone sounds this time. Quinn wonders whether she could develop bi-polar disorder just from reading her messages. They seem to be either really good, or really bad, at the moment.

_Quinn? Are you in there?_

Holy…fuck. Quinn races to the intercom, and picks up the receiver breathlessly.

'Rachel?'

'Hi.'

'What are you doing here?'

'…can I come up?'

Quinn presses the button automatically, because she's never been able to deny Rachel anything. Trouble. She's letting trouble up into her space, and from the way her heart is pounding, she isn't nearly as concerned about this as she should be.

She realizes with a start that she's wearing one sock and a towel, and probably has a minute to become appropriately clothed. Quinn dives back into Santana's room.

…

* * *

Rachel climbs the stairs slowly, because she isn't sure whether she should just turn around and go back.

Brody will be waiting. Rachel has put her phone on silent, in an effort to silence her conscience.

Quinn will be leaving soon. Rachel doesn't know when she will see her next. She's allowed to say goodbye, surely?

She's never lied to herself this much before. Rachel wonders for how long she's been lying to herself.

Santana's door seems to arrive quickly, despite her best efforts. If she goes in, Rachel knows exactly how this ends. Or at least, how she wants it to end. Maybe leaving now would be for the best. She has apartments to see. That would be the sensible thing to do. Lord knows it is hard enough to be sensible around Quinn.

The problem, of course, is that she doesn't want sensible. She wants Quinn.

Knocking is easy.

Rachel has to gulp twice when Quinn opens the door with wet hair, wearing what looks like pyjamas. She waves vaguely at Quinn's outfit.

'Oh…sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, I could go…'

Quinn smiles at her, and pushes a hand through her hair.

'No, really, it's fine, it's just that I sorting out my clothes when you rang, didn't really think I should answer the door in a towel.'

Rachel has to close her eyes for a moment, and _holy fuck, _since when has she had such little control of her body's reactions? She cannot be aroused in Santana's stairwell, for god's sake.

When she opens her eyes, Quinn is watching her with a raised eyebrow, and then coughs a little.

'So, uh, do you want to come in? I mean, are you okay? Do you need help with anything, or…?'

Rachel nearly says something inappropriate, but just steps inside, peering past through Santana's corridor into the kitchen. The door shuts behind her, and Rachel drops her bag, and takes off her coat, hanging it neatly on one of the hooks by the door.

'Is anyone else home? I'm not sure I've ever heard this place so quiet.'

Quinn shrugs, seeming very close to her, too close for Rachel to function.

'No, I think they've all gone to work, or didn't wake up here in the first place, so…'

Quinn's t-shirt looks like an old McKinley gym top, about three sizes too big. Rachel doesn't wonder about it, just notices the skin that would normally be covered up. There's a drop of water, resting on Quinn's collar bone, a reminder of Quinn's wet hair. Rachel's reaches out to touch it before she knows what she is doing, rubbing it over Quinn's exposed skin with the pad of her thumb.

She's dizzy, and hears Quinn inhale sharply, just next to her now. Rachel's fingers linger, seemingly unwilling to part from a place that seems so right for them, and Rachel curses inwardly, because this terrible plan is slowly shifting into only thing she could ever want.

She fumbles for correct words.

'Do you… I mean, I could wait, if you wanted to get changed? If you're cold?'

It's such a ridiculous statement, so out of kilter with what she's saying with the rest of her body, that Rachel would roll her eyes, if she was feeling half-way normal.

Quinn reaches for her, and Rachel meets her half way, kissing her so hard Quinn steps back into the wall behind her.

…


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy holidays guys! Possibly. IDK. **

* * *

Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

They make it into Santana's room after five minutes, Quinn taking the lead because she is very aware that about a thousand people have keys to this place, whereas Santana's lock can only be opened from the inside.

Rachel looks slightly startled when she recognizes that they are now in a space which contains a bed, and Quinn curses, because maybe this isn't what Rachel wanted. Maybe Rachel turned up at her door, and kissed her passionately, to say hi. Maybe this is how they operate, now.

Quinn eyes Rachel for a moment, from her place by the door, because Quinn's got nothing, really, stopping her from taking the next step. Rachel's the one with all the reasons against it. She should make the decision.

Her bottom lip feels like it takes some serious damage from her teeth when Rachel steps into her, and then looks at the non-existent space between their bodies. Quinn reaches a hand into Rachel's hair, and exposes the soft stretch of her neck, before running her fingers down its length. Rachel shudders, and gasps, at that action, and fists her hands in the front of Quinn's t-shirt, tugging Quinn forward.

The kiss is not gentle, or slow, in the slightest, and Quinn knows that her body is reacting, feels her hands reach for Rachel, any part will do, and try and press her even closer into Quinn.

Rachel moans into her mouth, and takes a step backwards, pulling Quinn along with her, who follows blindly, eyes closed.

Rachel abruptly disappears, and Quinn blinks her eyes open after a moment. Rachel is sitting on the bed, looking up at her while fumbling with her shoes. This seems an excellent idea, because Quinn is suddenly very aware that she's wearing three items of clothing, one of which is a sock, and she'd like to even the score.

From Rachel's position her eye level is probably parallel with Quinn's breasts, and Quinn folds her arms automatically, not happy with her body giving that much away, at this point. Rachel stands up again, and this time Quinn has to dip down slightly more to kiss her, because Rachel's lost some height.

Rachel runs a hand along Quinn's forearm, enquiringly, and Quinn opens her arms once more, pressing Rachel close. Her lips are soft, and Quinn wants to lose herself, entirely, in this moment.

The moan this time comes from Quinn, and it is so alien, this sensation of having no control over her body's reactions. Rachel sucks at her bottom lip, hesitantly, and then leans back a touch in order to look at her.

'Quinn…I don't know how to not want this.'

It seems to take Quinn's brain a moment to kick into gear, because she is sure that there are simpler ways of checking that they are both on the same page. She nods, and kisses Rachel again, before murmuring into her mouth.

'I want you.'

Rachel drops her hand down, to twist their fingers together, and Quinn knows a decision has been made.

…

* * *

Rachel isn't sure which moment will stick with her longer, the point at which Quinn seemed to snap and pick Rachel up bodily in order to place her on the bed and climb on top of her, or the look in Quinn's eyes when Rachel's pushed up from underneath her so that she could remove her sweater.

Rachel is wearing a tank top underneath, but it feels a great deal less than that when Quinn's gaze traces all over her, before tipping forward to press her lips to newly exposed skin.

When she feels Quinn's tongue on her neck, Rachel lets her whole body press up into Quinn's weight, searching for friction. Her hands go to the back of Quinn's head, and she has no idea how she is to survive and not just rub herself against Quinn's thigh until she comes, because her body is currently several verses ahead of where Rachel's clothing situation would indicate it should be.

She's turned on. She's so turned on.

And Quinn is not undressing her fast enough.

And she's wearing _jeans,_ for god's sake.

With a little moan of frustration, Rachel seeks to remedy the situation, unbuttoning and then scraping the zipper down. The noise seems to penetrate Quinn's haze, and she lifts to look down their bodies, before hissing _yes_ and sitting up to help Rachel.

Rachel, as an adolescent, always pictured sex to be this wonderful, elegant, activity, full of graceful moments and burning desire. She feels like she'd forgotten how frenzied it can be, particularly if one of the participants had decided to wear skinny jeans that require serious leverage to get them off.

Quinn swears, after a second, and pushes at them with a foot, until Rachel sits up and yanks the stubborn final inches off with her hands, and flings them on the floor. Quinn huffs out a laugh.

'Jesus, Rachel, wear less clothes next time.'

Rachel snorts after a second, and reaches around to straddle Quinn, pressing herself down into Quinn's lap. It's a position that feels quite familiar to her, despite it only happening once before.

'Shush. Are you complaining?'

Quinn scoots herself back to the headboard, so she's got something to lean on, and motions for Rachel to follow. Rachel kisses her hard, when she gets there, and tries to stop her stomach from trembling when Quinn's palms smooth underneath her top.

Quinn must catch the flicker of nervous excitement anyway, and bites once at her shoulder, before kissing it gently.

'I'm okay. Are you?'

Okay is such a silly word. Rachel is not feeling okay, which implies average and normal and fine. Rachel is feeling a great deal more than that. She doesn't think she can wrap words around it though, and so sticks to what she knows.

'I want this. I want…you.'

Quinn moans, and traces a tongue up the side of her neck, which causes Rachel to shudder and press downward, down towards much needed friction. The hands that are resting just beneath her ribs climb higher until they slip around and hesitate next to her bra clasp.

Rachel tips forward to kiss Quinn's ear, relishing the way Quinn trembles underneath her when she sucks gently at the lobe.

'Take it off Quinn, I need it off.'

Quinn swears, and Rachel decides that she lives for the sound of Quinn murmuring _fuck_ before unhooking her bra.

A different Rachel would be self-conscious, but that is a different Rachel, and so this one reaches down to her tank top's edge and pulls it off, taking her bra with it.

Quinn says _fuck _again, before glancing down once at Rachel's breasts, and kissing Rachel so hard she can feel the bruise. Rachel takes one of Quinn's hands that had been resting on her thighs, squeezing gently, and presses the palm to her skin, moaning at the sensation of her nipple tightening underneath Quinn's touch.

Quinn kisses at her neck, before just resting her head on Rachel's shoulder, eyes open so she can watch what her hand is doing. After a moment of caressing, Quinn glances up at her, frowning.

'I don't… know what I'm doing, I've never…before.'

Rachel shudders when Quinn's finger tips rub at her nipple, and fights to keep her eyes open, fights to not just combust right now.

'Just… god, you're doing fine. Just do what you do to yourself.'

The kiss she gets this time feels like it has a different shape, and when Rachel looks, Quinn's smiling at her. Rachel realizes that she's being teased, and rolls her eyes.

'What I do to myself, when I'm thinking about you?'

How is it possible for a person to be vaguely annoyed, _and _turned on? Quinn does something with her hands that makes Rachel's eyes roll back into her head for entirely different reasons, and she swears.

'God, yes… stop talking.'

Quinn moves up into her, and then tips her backwards, until Rachel's lying on the mattress looking up at Quinn. Quinn shifts her thigh until she is pressed between Rachel's legs, and Rachel whimpers at the reminder of just how wet she is.

Blonde hair traces over her chest, and Rachel moans when she feels hot breath on her skin.

'But I can't do this, to myself, so is it allowed?'

Rachel attempts to not just press her breast up into Quinn's mouth, but her self-restraint is ebbing by the second.

'Jesus, Quinn, just, please…'

She's never been so grateful for an empty apartment when Quinn slides a hot tongue over her nipple, because Rachel doesn't stand a chance of being quiet.

…

* * *

Rachel is so warm. The heat is radiating off her, and Quinn feels like a hot air balloon, moments away from drifting off altogether.

Instead she noses over the soft skin of Rachel's breasts, before cupping one with a hand while her tongue runs over the other, anxious to hear more noises from Rachel.

She isn't disappointed, and stays there for long seconds, sucking and then biting, experimenting to see which approach seems popular. Her data is ruined by the fact that everything seems popular, but Quinn isn't worried about that, not now.

After a moment, Quinn registers that hands are tugging at the collar of her own t-shirt, and she lifts, in a dream, to take it off. If she's ever felt any qualms about being naked in front of people they don't seem to count here, particularly when it is Rachel underneath her, gazing up at her like she's lost all sense of who she is and where she is.

Skin on skin makes Quinn moan, this time, and swear when she feels Rachel's hand go to her breast, with no pre-amble what so ever, and squeeze. She shudders down into Rachel, who gasps and presses upwards, and Quinn doesn't know what is happening to her, doesn't know who this person is who apparently can work herself over Rachel Berry's thigh with no reservations at all.

Rachel's mumbling in her ear, a long list of requests and desires.

'Quinn, god… I can feel you… please… I can't believe… take it off, everything, god… fuck, Quinn.'

It's the first time Quinn has heard her name in such close proximity to the word fuck, and she rolls her hips down in approval, before lifting away to kiss at Rachel's breasts again. After a second she notices Rachel's hands heading downward, and she watches, wide-eyed, as Rachel lifts her hips, and removes her panties.

Rachel's naked.

Quinn might pass out.

Rachel's chest is heaving, and she looks as if she's fighting really hard to get herself under control. Quinn tips herself sideways, and kisses at her cheek, and her neck.

'You're beautiful… you're sure?'

Rachel frowns at her, as if resenting that Quinn has raised the possibility that Rachel could have doubts, and rolls sideways, into Quinn, kissing her for long seconds.

'If you are…'

Quinn kisses her once, and then lifts her head slightly, watching the path of her hand as she traces fingers down the smooth skin of Rachel's body, down.

Rachel whispers _oh my god _when Quinn touches her inner thighs, and she then raises one leg, throwing it over Quinn's hip, and now Quinn's fingers are covered in wetness.

Quinn lets herself touch, just touch, for a while, because she feels that her head may explode and she might say something stupid if she goes too fast, but Rachel starts pressing herself forward and whimpering, and Quinn doesn't really have a chance.

She presses two fingers into Rachel, swearing softly at how wet she is, how warm she is.

Rachel kisses her, blindly, before tipping her head back and moaning, leaving Quinn to kiss her neck, kiss any part of Rachel that she can reach, really.

She experiments, and presses her fingers forward in a rhythm, once, twice, three times, before withdrawing them completely, and circling at the nub of Rachel's clitoris, instead. Rachel's body shudders in front of her, and Quinn could do this forever, wants this moment to last forever.

She circles again, before pressing the tips of her fingers further down, just enough, and Rachel moans loudly, and rolls onto her back, tugging Quinn on top of her.

'Fuck me Quinn, I can't…please.'

Quinn braces herself on one elbow, and sets about finding a rhythm, one that will get Rachel to tighten around her fingers. It's almost too difficult to think, she's that turned on, and she presses her own wetness down onto Rachel's thigh, still shielded by her pyjama's bottoms, but surely there can't be any secrets left there now.

She can't look at Rachel, and instead attaches her mouth to an erect nipple, sucking hard when one of Rachel's hands fists in her hair.

'Fuck, Quinn…yes. Harder.'

Quinn is glad Rachel's breast muffles her answer, because god knows what just came out of her mouth, and she bites down once, before easing her tongue over the peak.

Rachel gets wetter, if that is even possible, and moans out Quinn's name in a way that makes Quinn clench, makes her wonder if she's going to ride Rachel's leg into oblivion before Rachel comes.

There's a hand at her waistband, and Quinn lifts her hips slightly, to allow Rachel to slip inside, press a hand up to where Quinn needs her. Rachel chokes off a moan when she first touches Quinn, but there isn't any space to be embarrassed here, not while Quinn is two fingers deep inside Rachel.

Rachel twists her hips up to meet Quinn's thrusts, and she's mumbling in Quinn's ear.

'So wet… you're so wet.'

Quinn's arm is burning, but she ups the pace regardless, and presses her hips down, so now it isn't so much Rachel touching Quinn as Quinn humping Rachel's slippery finger tips.

'Fuck, Rachel… you did that, it's all for you.'

Rachel gasps, and then moves in a way that Quinn recognizes, and she feels Rachel clench around her for the first time.

'Quinn, I'm going to… oh god.'

Quinn curls her whole palm around, so now she is pressing wetly at Rachel's clit, and pushes herself into her a few more times, the thrusts of her hips increasingly erratic.

She feels Rachel clench once, and then again, and then Rachel arches up into her, moaning like Quinn imagined she would, every time. Quinn does her best to keep moving, keep pressed when Rachel needs her, but the sensation is a bit too much, and Quinn's final bucks are entirely selfish, the warmth pulsing around her hand and the murmuring in her ear taking second place to the feeling of Rachel's finger tips on her flesh.

She fucks herself on Rachel's hand, gasping out Rachel's name with her eyes closed, before coming hard and grinding down into pleasure.

…

* * *

It could be a dream.

When Quinn blinks her eyes open she looks completely dazed, and Rachel reaches her free hand up towards her automatically, rubbing fingers over Quinn's lips.

'Oh my god.'

It feels slightly too obvious a thing to say, but they are the only words Rachel knows how to say at this point, one hand covered in Quinn's wetness and the sensation of Quinn's fingers still tight inside her.

Quinn bites her lip, and then chases Rachel's fingers with a kiss, and Rachel has to fight a smile when she realizes what her attentions have done to Quinn's hair, which has dried looking like it decided to riot when no one was watching.

Quinn's arm is shaking with the effort of holding her up, and Rachel presses at her back, at the base of her spine where their hips meet.

'Hey, come here.'

Quinn accepts the invite, and collapses down into her, rolling to one side and kissing at her neck, before easing her fingers away from Rachel. Rachel gasps slightly at the change, and then rolls into her, pressing their bodies length to length.

She could be flying. And when Quinn kisses her gently, before smoothing Rachel's hair away from her face and just looking at her softly, Rachel thinks she might be.

'Hey.'

'Hi.'

…

* * *

Kurt feels like he is having some kind of stress induced break down. Brody appears to think that Kurt is Rachel's PA, now, or something, and will not stop calling him to check whether he has seen Rachel this morning. Kurt, for a lack of a better option, had suggested that he hadn't because he himself was out of the apartment.

Brody had then taken this as a signal that he should go around to their apartment to check Rachel hadn't managed to electrocute herself on the coffee machine, or mysteriously get herself entangled in a curtain, or whatever doomsday scenario he had been visualizing, which meant that Kurt had had to get _out_ of their apartment with minutes to spare. Because he had been lying in when he'd said he was out of the apartment. Kurt had been in the apartment, staring at Rachel's empty bed, wondering how to explain Rachel's lack of arrival on apartment hunting day.

Brody, on discovering the apartment empty- (just), had taken to calling Kurt again, who was sitting just around the block, in a near empty book shop, nursing a head ache.

'Do you think I should contact her dads? I'm really worried about her.'

Kurt holds the phone away from his ear in order to mouth obscenities into thin air, and then picks up the conversation.

'No, you'll only worry them. Brody, I've told you, she'll be out with friends, her phone will have died, she won't have noticed, and the apartment thing will have slipped her mind. Just… go and look at apartments, take photos, and tell her about them tonight.'

Brody mumbles at him for a second, and Kurt has a mental image of him checking under beds, inside cupboard, and rolls his eyes.

'Kurt, do you think I should contact the authorities? Because her phone isn't out of battery, it just keeps ringing out, like she can't pick it up.'

Kurt fights to not groan in disgust, but Brody's coming on a bit strong, here. If Kurt was in Brody's position, he thinks he'd be close to exploding with rage, not on the verge organising a search party.

'Brody, listen to me. She's just forgotten. Stop being ridiculous. There'll be a reasonable explanation. Take photos, she'll want to see the places.'

'Ahh, I don't know if I'll be able to see the places now, I asked the agent to wait for me, but that was an hour ago… are you sure she didn't mention anything to you?'

The shop assistant starts giving Kurt a dirty look, and Kurt lowers his voice while picking up a book, trying to pretend that he is actually browsing the crafts section of the store and not just hiding.

'No, Brody. I've got to go. Call the agent, she's probably still be available, those people bend over backwards for a signed contract.'

He puts the phone down with a sigh, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Wow, Brody can be a bit…much some times. Never let it be said that he doesn't care about his girl.

Rachel is seeing someone else.

Kurt's had a long time to think about it, and decided that this is the most likely explanation. Sudden happiness, combined with secretive behavior and mysterious disappearances, all at a time when a long term relationship suddenly gets more serious? Kurt's a big believer in Ockham's razor, and as Rachel is an attractive, talented woman who certainly is not shy of flirting, when you get her going, this is definitely more likely that the conspiracy theories that Brody is peddling.

He's annoyed with her. Primarily because she hasn't told him, but also because… well. Brody thinks he's entering a new and exciting phase in his life, while Rachel plays happy family with him before trotting off to see someone else.

He's very annoyed, actually. Kurt reaches for his phone, and calls Rachel, expecting to get her voice mail.

'Kurt?'

Oh, what the fuck? Is she just screening out Brody?

'Rachel, what the hell? Where are you?'

Rachel stutters a bit when she speaks, and sounds as though she's not prepared at all for this conversation.

'Kurt… I've only just got back to my phone. Is everything okay?'

Kurt would raise his voice, but he is concerned about getting thrown out. Instead he hisses.

'No, Rachel, things are not okay. You are supposed to be apartment hunting with Brody, and don't even tell me that you had forgotten because I know Mr Enthusiasm will have sent you a thousand messages. Brody is on the verge of calling out the National Guard because he can't get hold of you, and I need significantly more warning if I'm required to run around creating alibis for you! For god's sake, tell Brody you're alive at least.'

There's another voice, in the background, that cuts off suddenly, and Kurt curses that he couldn't catch a clear snatch of it.

'What are you taking about, creating alibis? I was just… away from my phone, and lost track of time.'

Kurt scoffs at her.

'Oh sure, Rachel, lie to me as well. You're with someone, aren't you? Don't even attempt to pretend otherwise, I just heard a voice.'

Rachel's voice sounds very small.

'Well, yes, but it isn't what you are implying…'

Kurt's had enough.

'Whatever, Rachel. I hope he's worth it.'

He puts the phone down with no regrets whatsoever.

...


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the slight delay, Christmas always seems to mean that I am required to spend time away from my laptop! Once again, thank you for your thoughts and feedback :)**

* * *

Quinn places the two glasses of juice that she'd just stolen out of the fridge on Santana's bedside table, and watches as Rachel stares at her phone screen for a moment, before sitting up and pressing her hands to her head.

'I need to go.'

Quinn nods silently to herself, and sets about retrieving Rachel's clothing from the various parts of the room they've found themselves in. She herself is only wearing panties and her gym top, and feels increasingly naked, as Rachel dresses herself.

Rachel puts on her vest top before putting on her bra, and it is enough to show Quinn that Rachel's feeling shaken by the phone call. She goes to sit next to her, handing her the missing bra quietly before rubbing a gentle hand along her shoulder. Rachel turns into her, and presses her face to the space between Quinn jaw and collar bone.

'It was Kurt. He's figured out I am with someone I shouldn't be.'

Quinn wants to be able to snap her fingers, and make everything simple for Rachel. However, she can't, and presses a kiss to her head instead, aware that Rachel's got to dig herself out of the hole. She thinks about the text message from Brittany, and her uneasiness sharpens when she realizes that Rachel still hasn't told her about her new plans with Brody.

'Maybe you should just tell him. Kurt isn't going to automatically tell Brody… keeping secrets from everyone can't be good for you.'

Rachel shakes her head after a moment, and moves away in order to reapply herself to the challenge of putting all her clothes on in the correct order.

'You don't know Kurt and Brody…they're really good friends. I can't say anything negative about Brody without Kurt leaping to his defence. He could tell him.'

Quinn sighs, and stands, takes a gulp of juice as a way of buying time.

'Rach…Kurt is your friend. Before Brody's.'

Rachel passes two hands through her bangs, trying to adjust them, and Quinn can't really understand how they went from naked and happy to fully clothed and stressed, in the space of half an hour.

'I don't know anymore. It feels like, Kurt could go either way, somehow.'

Rachel reaches for her phone again, and bites at her lip, seemingly scrolling through endless missed calls. Quinn is very conscious that she has no claim over Rachel, has no desire to try and rip Rachel away from her life with Brody, if it is making her happy, and so tries to stay quiet.

When Rachel looks at her with watery eyes, Quinn isn't so sure what makes anyone happy any more. She feels a wave of regret, because she and Rachel really weren't ready for what had just happened between them, regardless of how much they actually wanted it.

Stupid. Stupid, impulsive, self indulgent behaviour. Quinn frowns at herself, and then frowns at Rachel, because this was hardly one-sided.

She flaps a hand between her and Rachel vaguely, irritated.

'So this… isn't going to happen? Isn't supposed to happen?'

Rachel looks at her with big eyes and an unreadable expression.

'Have you asked me to leave him?'

What? Quinn scowls, because since when is Rachel allowed to put the decision in her hands? This time she doesn't so much reply, as snap.

'Jesus, Rachel… no, I haven't. I don't see why… fucking hell, this is your decision not mine. You do what you want.'

Rachel's face tightens imperceptibly, and she stands, and starts putting on her shoes with quick, sharp movements.

'Oh sure, Quinn, because you aren't a factor in this at all. My doubts about Brody are entirely separate to whatever it is that we have been pursuing for the past couple of months or so.'

Quinn follows suit, and drags a pair of jeans out of her bag, sitting down on the bed in order to tug them on. Maybe if she just had more clothes on, this whole discussion will be easier.

'Rachel, will you stop trying to heap all of this on me? I don't want to be the catalyst for you leaving Brody, I can't deal with that. I don't want that.'

There's a pause, in which Quinn occupies herself with trying to locate a matching sock, rather than having to look at Rachel.

When she can't avoid it anymore, she looks up at Rachel, who immediately looks away from her, with arms crossed.

'I can't…I can't do this right now Quinn. I need more time to figure this out. Particularly if you are saying you don't actually want to be with me.'

Oh, what the hell?

'What the… when did I even say…whatever Rachel, I'm sure this will only get easier to figure out when you are living with Brody, sure.'

Rachel gasps at her, and then looks angry, as if she has any right.

'How did you know?'

Quinn considers protecting her sources, but then decides against it, because she feels like Rachel should know that Brittany thought Quinn had a right to know.

'Brittany told me. Just before you turned up, actually. I thought you might be here to discuss it, not to try and forget it with me. Is that what I am; a distraction from how boring your life is becoming?'

It's a bit low, and Quinn almost regrets it, but she's angry. This is not how this was supposed to end.

Rachel just looks at her for a long moment, and then looks away, towards the door, not even trying to deny it. She looks small, and fragile, and perfect, and Quinn feels herself ache, suddenly defeated.

'Rach, I think… if you are sure enough about Brody to say yes to moving in with him, then you probably shouldn't be here.'

Rachel takes half a step towards her, and Quinn stands up automatically, but Rachel stops short. Instead Quinn gets a strangled half sob, and a helpless gesture at her.

'When I'm with him… I'm thinking about you.'

Quinn closes her eyes after a moment, and breathes deeply.

'That… that isn't enough, Rachel. Not right now.'

Rachel stays rooted to the spot, not going anywhere.

'But you don't want me to leave him for you? You don't want…anything more than a casual fuck buddy?'

The profanity makes Quinn's mouth twist, and she fights to keep herself under control.

'Well you're the one who turned up announced and kissed me… what is it that you want me to say Rachel? No, I don't want you to leave Brody purely because I'm something new and interesting, because I'm not going to stay new and interesting to you, okay? I can't… I think you should go.'

The last statement seems to linger in the air, and Quinn wants to take it back, wants to make Rachel stay, wants to curl up on the couch and watch mindless television and make out and tell bad jokes until she smiles.

And a long moment, Rachel breathes out, a breath Quinn wasn't even aware she was holding.

'Maybe you're right, if you don't want… maybe you're right.'

Quinn shrugs helplessly, and shifts from one foot to another, imagining what Rachel and Brody's apartment will be like.

She'll never go and visit.

'Quinn, I…'

When Quinn looks, finally, Rachel has tears rolling down her cheeks, and Quinn feels her own eyes start to match.

In a flurry, Rachel steps towards her, kissing her like the world is ending, hanging on tight. Quinn's hands move automatically to the sides of Rachel's top and bunch there, and kisses back hard, determined to leave some kind of lasting memory. It's like an out of body experience, with the entirety of Quinn's brain yelling at her to let go, and her body refusing to listen.

They burn, these kisses, hot enough to scar. Quinn can feel her heart flinching from it.

It could last forever and end too soon, but when Quinn breaks for air, Rachel just breathes into her mouth, and murmurs 'I'm sorry.' Her face is wet with tears, and Quinn wants to wipe them away, but instead concentrates on not saying anything, because even the smallest anything will almost certainly betray her.

Rachel kisses her once more, gentle. And when the door closes it sound like the end.

...

* * *

Rachel tries to type a message, while she is on the subway trying to embarrass herself quietly. She's the weird crying girl on the train. It's the middle of the afternoon. She must look like a lunatic.

She doesn't really know what she wants to say. She kind of just wants to yell at Quinn and sob and put her arms around her until Quinn hugs her back, but that doesn't really translate well to text message.

Instead she just sends _Quinn, I don't know how you have forgotten this, but I'm not drawn to you because you are 'new'. We've been friends for a long time now, and I have always been thinking of you, right from the start. So don't pretend that this is based on that._

Rachel doesn't know why she presses send without even re-reading it, and when she does go into her sent box, she realizes, with a twinge of horror, that it looks like she is shouting at Quinn, or being sarcastic, or something else equally moronic. She wants to throw her phone out of the window so she won't be tempted to message anything else.

After five minutes she gets a reply.

_Whatever Rachel. I don't want to hear it._

Rachel doesn't know what she is going to say to Brody to explain the redness of her eyes, and tries to fight a fresh wave of tears, to little avail.

She chooses to bite a different bullet, instead.

…

* * *

Kurt is not having a good day.

In fact, he might be having the worst day on record since his arrival in New York, and that included the day when he walked in on Santana and Brittany taking slightly too much advantage of his and Rachel's hospitality, on their couch, after a party.

Rachel has asked him to meet her at one of their old coffee shop haunts, a couple of blocks away from their apartment. He'd sent back a sniping message suggesting it was Brody she was supposed to be meeting, not Kurt. The request had then turned into a summons, and she's pushing it, she's really pushing it.

Kurt has everything crossed, and folded, and is generally trying to look like no explanation is going to be good enough for Rachel's behavior. He's already half way through his coffee, to allow himself an excuse to leave if he needs it.

His anger dissolves within two seconds of looking across at Rachel, when she sits down opposite him.

'Oh honey… you look a mess.'

He reaches for her hand automatically, and Rachel sniffles once, and clings to it, clings like it a lifeline.

'Kurt, I'm really sorry, okay? I've been… I don't even know why I've been trying to do this by myself but I really need you, okay, because I'm making such a mess and you are so much more sensible than me and…'

Rachel bursts into fresh tears at that point, and Kurt stands up and slides into Rachel's side of the booth, throwing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her into his side.

'Oh, good lord, come here, wait, have this napkin, look, there. Breathe, Rachel, breathe. It'll be fine, we'll figure out what to tell Brody, it's fine…'

This seems to only spark fresh tears, and Kurt dabs helplessly at them for a moment, before deciding that this may take more than one napkin.

…

* * *

'We'll start slowly, shall we? How long have you been doing things you shouldn't?'

Rachel frowns at him, and starts tearing at the corner of a paper towel in front of her.

'I… I've been doing things I shouldn't for a long while. But this particular series of mishaps… a couple of months maybe?'

Kurt chokes on his drink, surprised, and Rachel reaches for him.

'But I've been feeling… not great, with Brody. I don't know, it's hard, because he's wonderful…and I don't want to hurt him, but…'

Rachel trails off, and Kurt fills in some gaps for her, taking pity.

'Just by saying _but _is usually enough, Rachel. You haven't been happy. Proceed.'

Rachel bites at her lip, and looks down at the table.

'And then… I don't know, he got a job, and I started panicking that it meant I wouldn't get a job, and then he suddenly wants me to move in, and all the while, there's this… other person.'

Kurt frowns a little, and tries to explain it to himself.

'So, the other person… he's a distraction, while you are very confused, but I'm sure it's just stress, Rachel, because everything is happening at once. Brody doesn't suspect a thing, we can draw a line under this whole incident, and you get to move forward.'

Rachel stares at him for a long moment.

'What if I feel… Kurt, I'm not upset because of Brody right now. I'm feeling awfully guilty, but I'm not upset over _him, _as such.'

Kurt blinks.

'What? Then…what?'

Rachel looks out of the window, and Kurt watches as her eyes fill up with tears again.

'Have you ever… felt like you were constantly on the verge of losing someone but you had no idea how to stop it happening? A spectator to your own life?'

Okay, Rachel is known for her melodrama, but even this feels a little extreme. Kurt feels his stomach twist in distaste.

'Ahhh, Rachel, without wishing to call you deluded… you've known this guy for two months, and can only have caught, what,_ brief_ snatches of time with him, if I'm reading this correctly. I'm not sure that it is possible to experience such depth of feeling in such a space of time. Think about Brody. Isn't he more important than Mr Who-ever?'

Rachel bites at her lip, and glances once at him.

'Kurt, it's more complicated than that, there's…'

She trails off, and Kurt prods at her under the table after a second.

'Rachel?'

Rachel takes a deep breath.

'Kurt, it's Quinn.'

Kurt laughs once, and then covers his mouth, eyes wide, when Rachel doesn't laugh back, because really, who would make that kind of joke?

He's going to need a little processing time.

…

* * *

They end up walking along endless blocks, because Kurt is slightly concerned that Brody might be setting up camp inside their apartment, and he thinks both he and Rachel need some time to get their stories straight.

Straight. Ha. Kurt mentally crashes a comedy cymbal.

'Quinn. Quinn Fabray. That Quinn.'

Rachel tuts at him, and steps around a signpost.

'It isn't the most common of names, Kurt. That Quinn.'

Kurt sighs, and presses at the bridge of his nose for a moment, blinking against the angle of the setting sun.

'Okay, so we'll leave the whole, _what, you are suddenly gay? _aspect of this for another time, but, I need further details please. Are you just crushing on her because you've always been oddly fixated on her, and now the whole Brody thing is scary? Because that… would be a silly thing to do Rachel. Oh, god, you didn't tell her about your crush? Is that what's causing all the tears? Because you are setting yourself up for a world of heart-break there, has Quinn ever treated any of her devotees with anything close to compassion? Christ, friend territory is far safer with that girl, I, ow!'

Rachel had hit him. Really rather hard, on the arm. Well, smacked him. He hadn't been prepared.

'Can you try and not be a complete bitch about Quinn, Kurt? I mean really, is it necessary?'

Whoa, okay. Kurt prods at Rachel, frowning, and then holds up a hand in apology.

'Jeez, okay, so Quinn is lovely. Ahh, she was nice to you, when you announced your crush? But you decided to cry anyway?'

He's half joking, he decides, but Rachel looks like she isn't in the mood for jokes at all, and Kurt takes a step back in case violence becomes the solution once again.

'Is it really that difficult to conceive of Quinn being attracted to me? This has not been one sided, Kurt.'

Kurt thinks if his eyebrows rose any higher they'd leave his forehead altogether. He looks down the street behind them, and leans in to lower his voice.

'What? You and Quinn… kissing? And being romantic? And… stuff?'

An awkward hand waggle accompanies the word _stuff_, but Kurt isn't sure what he was even asking then, or if he really wants to know the answer.

Rachel whispers back at him, despite the fact there is no-one really in ear shot.

'Yes, Kurt, and change the record, please, this isn't helping. Kissing, romance, and I don't really know what that hand gesture was supposed to signify, but probably that too.'

Oh good lord. Kurt needs to sit down.

…

* * *

She'll be fine.

She _will _be fine.

Cheating never leads to anything good. It was always going to be a fifty fifty call on whether her or Brody took the hit. Quinn knew the risks before she got involved.

And so, sure, right now, she feels like a million shades of _shit,_ but she's had relationships that have ended without her wishes before, she's survived.

This wasn't even a relationship. This was a…fling, possibly? Quinn isn't even sure if it counts as that, when you can count the kissing incidences on one hand.

The last time someone broke up with Quinn it was Finn, outside a funeral. Quinn remembers feeling wounded pride, and frustration, at the fact that despite her best efforts, Finn was not conforming to the reality that Quinn was trying to create.

She does not recall feeling like her heart has been shredded somehow, mauled by a tiger, but maybe people are more resilient when they're younger, maybe this is how all adult break ups feel.

Quinn does not cry in public, and therefore spends the journey back to New Haven processing anger, instead. The guy sat opposite her looks relieved to be to get off after a couple of stops, leaving Quinn to glare at the headrest instead.

Rachel wants her. Just not _enough._

The worst part is knowing that Rachel probably would leave Brody, if Quinn demanded it. But when left to her own devices, she winds up with him.

It is damn stupid how someone who is so mature in so many ways, is behaving like a toddler when it comes to her relationships, just waiting for someone with a forceful enough voice to tell her what to do.

Quinn's upset that Rachel wants to play it safe. She's upset that Rachel isn't sure about anything. She's upset that Rachel is happy to get by with a nice enough guy. It seems to make a mockery, somehow, of the entirety of their high school career.

What's the point of being the world's most insanely passionate person in your teenage years, if you plan on settling for _good enough_ in the future?

Shit, if just one of them was brave enough, they'd probably end up together. But Quinn knows herself well enough to know that she's not going to be the brave one. Quinn does not do successful relationships. Particularly ones built from a foundation of cheating. She'd needed Rachel to take the leap, so at least when they crashed and burned it wouldn't all be Quinn's fault, somehow.

She's going to miss being Rachel's friend, she realizes. Miss with an ache that consumes her entire being.

By the time the train pulls into New Haven, she's almost run out of anger, looping around in mental spirals of ever contracting circles.

She only just makes it to her room before the tears come.

…

* * *

They wind up in a green space, sat on a bench. Rachel sighs, and tips her head sideways onto his shoulder.

'I feel like all the significant moments in my life happen on benches, at the moment.'

Kurt twists his lips, and thinks about Brody, about what a steady, friendly, nice guy he is.

'You should give Brody one more shot. Christ, Rachel, from the sounds of it Quinn doesn't even want a relationship, and panicked when you suggested it. You deserve more than that.'

Rachel shakes her head next to him, and stretches her legs out, pointing her toes in a move that reminds him of another moment, one he can't fully identify.

'That wasn't, what she said. I don't know. She's… scared. Maybe. And probably sick of me being a complete bitch to everyone important.'

Kurt holds up a hand to interject.

'Okay, I can see how you are being a bitch to Brody, and to myself, _hello_, but I'm not sure what right Quinn has to be upset. What was it that you argued about, exactly?'

Rachel shrugs after a moment, and then sniffs.

'I don't really remember. It all felt very final. I asked her whether she wanted me to leave Brody, she said she didn't because of things I can't remember, I'd pretty much started crying by then, and then she started crying, and I left.'

Kurt coughs awkwardly.

'How very lesbian of you both.'

It earns him another wallop on the arm, but goodness knows he's going to have to try and keep things light if Rachel has to speak to Brody at some point tonight, which she definitely does.

'She's… not a predictable creature, Quinn. I've got lots of admiration for her, Rachel, and I know how important she is to you, but maybe…look. Brody's really good for you, and really good to you. Has he ever made you cry?'

Rachel mumbles a nothing response, but Kurt knows the answer. He feels like he knows everything about their lives.

'Having a steady, stable, drama-free relationship isn't the same as having a boring one, Rach. Don't give up on that. Particularly after arguing with Quinn. Let the dust settle. Let Quinn skulk in her lair for a bit. Process, Rachel. You've been going very fast.'

Rachel doesn't say anything for the longest time, and then stands, stretching out a hand to him. Kurt brushes some dust off his coat automatically.

'We'll see, Kurt. I don't know. I probably need to stop hurting before I can think. Thanks, Kurt, you've been… I hope Quinn talks to someone like you.'

…

* * *

Brody doesn't understand.

He'd seen two out of the three apartments that had been originally planned, and had diligently taken photos, as Kurt had suggested. He's got a folder on his phone entitled _possibilities_, but this is never going to work unless Rachel actually comes with him, because how can he explain the feel of a place to her, how can he take a photo of the atmosphere of the neighborhood?

He feels betrayed, somehow. Rachel should have been more excited. Rachel should have been there with him, clinging to his arm and discussing where they could hang fairy lights.

In fact, ever since Rachel just sent him a brief message, Brody has been working his way up through the gears and ended up at the emotion entitled _fucking furious._

Rachel had said_ I'm okay. Couldn't come today. We should talk._

And that was all he got, after a day of panicking and looking like an idiot in front of the leasing agent, that was all he got.

Not even a _sorry._

And sure, he's aware Rachel isn't perfect. There was that time when she had a meltdown before visiting his aunt's house, or the day when Brody had plans with his friends, but then Santana had needed help moving house, and Brody had just received a summons, but Brody figures that everyone messes up, on occasion. He probably does.

He just didn't expect Rachel to bail on her on this day.

So when Brody gets to his room in his shitty apartment, he calls Rachel. And then calls again.

Again and again, waiting for her to pick up.

…


	16. Chapter 16

**For those of you interested in this sort of thing, (only me) this chapter takes the story past Easy After Midnight into being the longest thing I have ever written. I am uncertain how I feel about this. One part pride, one part _what am I doing with my life?_**

**However.**

**Thanks for reading :) **

* * *

Kurt eyes her phone, concerned.

'He's calling again, Rachel.'

Rachel is sat opposite him, at their kitchen table, with her hands folded.

'If I speak to him now, I will just tell him the truth.'

Kurt rolls his eyes. 'Sure, and everyone knows that all the best relationships are built on lies.'

Rachel flips him off, in a move that Kurt doesn't think he has even seen her pull before. How exotic.

'Kurt, you're the one advocating that I try to keep this whole farce with Brody alive. How do I do that if I tell him I couldn't make the apartment hunt because I was too busy being fucked by Quinn?'

Oh good _lord_, he doesn't need details. He throws up a hand before Rachel can tell him specific positions.

'Whoa, okay, please stop so I don't have to bleach my eardrums, little Miss Overshare. Save that for Santana. But can you please answer this phone, this entire thing is making me anxious.'

Rachel stands up, and yanks open the fridge as if it is the poor fridge's fault. There's half a bottle of wine, nearly all of which seems to end up in Rachel's glass.

'Making _you_ anxious… what the hell am I supposed to do? This is my whole life we're talking about…'

Kurt goes to join her, and takes a gulp from her glass.

'Just… stall, somehow. Buy thinking time. Also, since when is Brody your whole life, stop trying to make this more dramatic than it needs to be.'

Rachel shrugs at him, and retrieves her glass, with a meaningful look.

'What if I don't think that I will change my mind? What if… fuck, what if I can't stop thinking about Quinn?'

Kurt decides that he needs his own drink, and opens a bottle of wine from the cupboard. It isn't cold, but desperate times...

'The thing about the future, I am reliably informed, is that it is almost impossible to predict. Now, answer the phone, tell Brody you've contracted the Noro virus and have to be quarantined, and spend a couple of days figuring this out. Then try things with Quinn if you want. But don't rush into things Rachel, you do that and then you nearly always regret them.'

Rachel's phone starts up again at this point. Rachel sighs at it.

'Quinn doesn't want to be with me.'

Kurt shrugs, because he is not a lesbian equivalent of the horse whisperer, he can't figure out what is going on between them. He takes a gulp of warm white wine, and nudges Rachel with his hip.

'But you want to be with her, all of a sudden? She must be excellent at kissing…please don't give me any details.'

Rachel snorts at him after a moment.

'We nearly had sex on our couch... oh god I'm such a fuck up. I'm a bitch, I'm treating Brody like shit… do you think I could get a train to New Haven? Do you think Quinn would see me? I want to see her.'

Kurt is going to have to burn that damn couch.

'We should get drunk. And then you decide.'

…

* * *

Brody receives a phone call at three in the morning.

'Kurt?'

'Brody. It's me.'

'Why the hell are you calling me at this time Rachel, from Kurt's phone? I must have called you a thousand times.'

'I don't want to move in with you.'

'Rachel… you're drunk. Jesus.'

'I don't want to live with you. I need some time away from you, I… Kurt, shush, just… Brody, don't call me. I need thinking time. I'm sorry…Kurt will you shut up!'

Brody puts the phone down.

…

* * *

Rachel wakes up on the couch.

She's got one shoe still on, and a phone in her hand. Kurt is curled up in the armchair just opposite.

She lifts her head from the couch, and that's when the hangover hits, like a train.

'Ugh…oh god…Kurt?'

Kurt makes a noise, and then seems to curl further in on himself. There's an empty bottle of wine on the floor next to him. Rachel decides that waking him may not be the kindest thing to do.

She has Kurt's phone in her hand. She doesn't know where her own is.

She receives an entirely unwelcome flash back, in which Kurt had confiscated her phone, and then, using top notch drunken logic, had replaced it with his own.

Rachel remembers she had been sitting on the floor, announcing her intentions to call Quinn and tell her that she was still much more that the prettiest girl she'd ever met, but how dare she be so unreasonably attractive?

Oh, god, Rachel and alcohol have never mixed well.

Wincing slightly, Rachel sits up, and opens Kurt's call list.

Kurt doesn't have Quinn's number stored. He does have others though.

With mounting horror, Rachel realizes that she called Brody last night. And he picked up.

Something in her brain shifts, and she remembers saying _I don't want to live with you_. It had been on repeat in her head all day, it must have just snuck out.

She doesn't want to live with Brody. All of the doubts swirling around her head seem to have fermented overnight, and Rachel has woken up certain. It's a relief, in a way.

However, Brody doesn't deserve to get a call at… oh shit, ten past three in the morning to have that announced at him.

She's a moron, she's an utter moron.

'Kurt… where's my phone?'

After a moment, Kurt grunts, and blinks at the world.

'What the… oh god.'

'Kurt, I need my phone. I called Brody.'

Kurt raises an arm after a moment, and points to their kitchen.

'I think, oh wow, okay, everything hurts… I think I put it in the breakfast cupboard.'

Rachel stumbles to her feet, and makes to the kitchen primarily by clinging to various objects of furniture.

There's a message from Brody.

_We need to talk. Whenever you are sober and finished being a self-indulgent bitch._

Brody has _never _called her a name before, and it hits her like a punch to the gut. However, before she can even process that, she has already moved on to the other message that's there.

_I need some time away from this Rachel. Please don't try and get in touch. I'm sorry. Brody is a good guy; he'll make you happy._

It's ironic, maybe, that in the very moment Rachel becomes certain about what she wants, she manages to lose it.

…

* * *

Quinn receives one message from Rachel, the next day.

_If I did what I want, I'd be on a train, heading to see you. But I've done too much of just what I want, recently. I'll think of you every minute. Please tell me when I can speak to you again._

Quinn reads it four times, and then deletes it.

She has been neglecting her studies. Finals are in a month. Rachel should be concentrating on whatever the hell it is that NYADA students do in the final year.

This is not what her life is. She does not let people become… necessary, like Rachel has done. She is her own person.

Quinn has her own friends, she is in Yale for goodness sake. There are the girls on her major, and the boys across the corridor, and the people down at the gym… Ashleigh, who well may be a lunatic but Quinn will allow herself one lunatic in her life.

She has an entire separate life to be thinking about.

She cannot do relationships.

And she clearly cannot trust herself around Rachel, or rely on Rachel to have any form of self-restraint.

Sleeping with Rachel was a mistake. Because Rachel was always going to leave.

And she's hurting.

…

* * *

Brittany's worried.

She hasn't heard back from Quinn, which could mean lots of things. Like, Quinn could have lost her phone, or be inside a bunker with no signal.

Those explanations would be plausible if this was still the morning that she sent the message, but this is now two days later, and Brittany's worried that if she is stuck in a bunker for all this time then something has gone seriously wrong.

Or maybe Quinn's mad at her for telling her that Rachel was moving in with Brody. That was probably Rachel's job, on reflection. But Brittany had just been concerned, and had made a snap decision when Santana had gone to use her shower. Brittany had sort of wanted to press delete, after she'd sent it, but she figures time travel is impossible because some things are supposed to happen.

Quinn should know about Rachel and Brody. Brittany's just sad that her message probably made Quinn sad.

She sends Quinn lots of messages, but none of them seem to get a reply.

_Hi!_

_Hello?_

_Greetings, which I think may be German for hello._

_So! Are you angry with me?_

_I mean, maybe you are. I maybe shouldn't have told you. But I think I should have, so, you know._

_Lord Tubbington says hi!_

_Rats, I've used that one before. He totally doesn't. He doesn't even like rats._

_Quinn, if you were stuck in a bunker, you'd tell me, right?_

_Or, maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you aren't getting any of these messages!_

_Should I come and rescue you? y/n?_

_Oh, crap, wait. That wouldn't work._

_If Rachel made you sad, she probably made herself sad too, because she doesn't like it when people are sad, and she cares about you._

_A LOT._

_Did you guys make out again?_

_You totally don't have to tell me, but I'll take your silence as a yes._

_Quinn?_

After a bit of amateur sleuthing, she finds the Ashleigh girl that Santana's always either bitching about, or declaring to be the best drinking buddy ever, and sends a facebook message.

_Hi, so you don't know me, really, but I'm Brittany Pierce. And, um, you might not know all of this too, but at my party Quinn kissed this girl called Rachel who likes singing a lot, but now Rachel is moving in with her boyfriend, and I think Quinn is falling in love with Rachel, which is a bit awkward (due to the whole boyfriend situation), and I accidentally told her and now Quinn isn't talking to me, I don't think. Is she back in New Haven? She isn't, I dunno, trapped in a hole somewhere?_

_By the way we should totally be facebook friends, your face looks awesome._

Brittany presses send, and then re-reads her message, frowning. She isn't sure if she completely explained every nuance accurately, but she figures that if Ashleigh is smart enough to get into Yale and be Quinn's friend, she can probably fill in the gaps.

Later on that evening, Brittany gets a notification.

_Hi Brittany, your face looks awesome too._

_Quinn isn't trapped in a hole, but she is a moody shit and refusing to be anything other than a cloud of misery. She's trapped in an emotional hole, maybe?_

_Thanks for the Rachel info, I'd surmised that something must have gone down, figuratively or literally speaking. I'll try and get her to process._

_Here's my number, if you're worried._

Brittany frowns, because Quinn doesn't sound good. Cloud of misery sounds the opposite.

_Hi, Brittany here. Be nice to her, from me, please. _

Maybe she should tell Santana. But then Brittany thinks that if Quinn is being a miserable cloud, then it is probably because she did something wrong, maybe, and so probably doesn't need Santana's personal brand of supportive sarcasm, right now.

_I don't really do nice. I'll probably try to irritate her out of it with inappropriate jokes, if I'm honest. But thanks for the heads up._

Oh.

…

* * *

Ashleigh thinks she went through a phase like this. She was maybe…fourteen. Some boy had been a dick, and Ashleigh had refused to come out of her room. Her mom had tried to post pizza under her door. Ashleigh remembers listening to a great deal of GreenDay.

Quinn is like a little autopilot robot. After her evening of tears (the Night of the Great Flood, as Ashleigh likes to refer to it, in her head) Quinn has come and gone from her room claiming total happiness, puttering off to seminars, or the gym, or the library for endless studying.

Ashleigh has spent two evenings trying to worm out of Quinn what has happened, because she is a concerned friend who likes to know these sorts of things.

She has endured two evening of Quinn mumbling that everything is fine, before holing herself up in her room to 'study'. Ashleigh has decided that this means cry. Or masturbate thinking about Rachel. Or possibly both. Ew, okay, too far.

So, on the third day, half an hour before Quinn is due back, Ashleigh takes three bottles of wine and a box of lager into Quinn's room, sits on the floor, and browses youtube to pass the time.

Quinn arrives, steps over Ashleigh, unpacks her books and folders onto the desk, and pokes a toe at her.

'Ashleigh. You're in the wrong room again. The clean one is mine, remember?'

Ashleigh unscrews the bottle of wine next to her, takes a gulp straight from the bottle, and passes it to Quinn. Or, at least tries to. Quinn just stares down at her for a long second, and then checks her watch.

'Ashleigh…it's twenty to seven. You cannot be serious.'

Ashleigh waves the bottle at her, and then says 'take it off me, or I'll drop it. That I'm serious about.'

Quinn reaches for it after a moment, and Ashleigh claps her hands together once, opening proceedings.

'So. I've checked your schedule, because I'm an invasive and nosey friend, and you haven't got anything on until four in the afternoon tomorrow. Which means you can get drunk with me, and tell me what the fuck is going on with Rachel, so I don't feel left out. Hurrah! Drink something.'

Quinn sits on her bed, and squints at Ashleigh.

'Let me get this straight…you know I'm having a shitty time, and you're trying to be a supportive friend by getting me drunk so I cry in front of you.'

Well, that would seem to be the long and short of it. Ashleigh shrugs after a second.

'I figured, if you're doing plenty of secret crying while sober, maybe getting drunk will help you laugh? Has to be worth a try, surely?'

Quinn blinks at her once, and then stands up.

'I am not sharing a bottle with you, that much is certain… let me get a glass.'

Ashleigh grins. Hurrah!

…

* * *

Oh, shit, seriously, drunken Quinn is the best.

'Flapjacks, Ashleigh. We going to fucking well make fucking flapjacks because it is my life and I'm allowed to go after the things I want, okay, so don't even try and stop me.'

Ashleigh finds vertical after only two attempts, and weaves after Quinn into their shared kitchen. On opening the door, she almost walks straight into Quinn, who is on her way back out.

'Wine. Go get my wine.'

Ashleigh thinks she tries to raise an eyebrow at Quinn. Quinn counters by actually raising an eyebrow, the bitch.

'Ahem, that is my wine that you are guzzling, Quinnifer.'

'Whatever. Go and get your wine, so I can put it in my mouth.'

There, that sounds far more reasonable. Ashleigh follows instructions (does this mean she's a sous chef now?), and when she returns Quinn has every cupboard open, and is standing in the middle of their kitchen with her hands on her hips. She squints at her after a moment.

'What goes in a flapjack?'

Ashleigh snorts.

'Flaps?'

Quinn does not appreciate her completely awesome and motherfucking _topical_ lesbian joke, and frowns at her, before pointing.

'Find out.'

Ashleigh nods, and sits on their table, digging out her phone.

'What should I google?'

Quinn turns on their oven, before peering owlishly at the ingredients in a rogue box of cereal.

'How do you making fucking flapjacks?'

Ashleigh types it in diligently, and then scrolls.

'There's… huh, do you want to make the breakfast one, or the one they make in England that looks a lot like dried vomit?'

Quinn locates some eggs in the fridge, and holds them above her head in triumph.

'Whichever one contains eggs!'

Ahhh… Ashleigh doesn't know. Shit, cooking is hard.

…

* * *

They end up making boiled eggs.

It is somewhat anticlimactic, but Ashleigh presses hers between two pieces of bread to make an egg sandwich, so things aren't a complete disaster.

Fucking…shell, though. She flicks a bit at Quinn, who is sat opposite her, eating an egg like it is an apple. She has decided to pair it with a bag of chips and more wine, which is a food combination bound to end in trouble.

'So, Brittany tells me you are ignoring her.'

Quinn shrugs, and takes another bite.

'Am not. Well, I am, but I'm not ignoring her, specifically. I am ignoring everything linked to… that part of my life. For a while. For studying purposes.'

Ashleigh clicks her tongue at her, after a moment.

'How's that working out for you?'

Quinn sighs at her, and then flicks shell back.

'What if I said that I don't want to talk about it?'

Ashleigh rolls her eyes, and then stands to go find some more chips.

'Then I'd remind you that I'm a loveable asshole who will not stop asking you, and would probably resort to interrogation methods, so let's do this the easy way, huh?'

Quinn still just looks at her, until Ashleigh meaningfully starts pouring more wine, and Quinn makes a face.

'Ugh, no more, okay… what do you want to know?'

Whoa, okay, free passes to ask overly personal questions about Quinn Fabray's love life do not happen very often. Ashleigh goes for facetious.

'How good is Rachel in bed?'

Quinn nods firmly, and says 'very', and that was one hundred percent not the answer Ashleigh was expecting, and she thinks she might have just sprayed egg sandwich halfway across the room in her reaction.

'What!'

…

* * *

They go for a walk, in the end, because whenever Quinn gets the slightest bit drunk she wants to go for a walk, and whenever Quinn wants to process anything she goes for a walk, and seeing as this is that situation squared Ashleigh is going to have to be careful they don't end up walking to New York.

They take an emergency bottle of wine with them. They aren't completely stupid.

'It's so much…easier to talk about crappy stuff, huh, when drunk? Why… has this not been brought to my attention before?'

Ashleigh throws an arm around Quinn's shoulders, and only ten percent of her motivation is a hunt for balance.

'Well… because first time you got drunk with me you announced that you didn't want to become your mother, and you had made one of the worst choices in your life while drunk, and then inexplicably banned me from saying the word _puckerman_, as if that is a word I toss around casually in day to day conversation. I've kind of, not suggested drinking much, since then. This counts as an emergency, anyway. And I promise not to get you pregnant.'

Quinn pretty much just elbows her in the neck, at that point, and then carries on walking as if nothing happened.

'Let's try and zone in on the current disaster in my life, rather than the bigger picture.'

It's a load of bullshit, because Ashleigh knows that Quinn writes to the kid every month, and goes to visit at least twice a year, but plays along anyway.

'Okay, so ignoring that… you're into the Rachel girl. Who's moving in with Brody. But who keeps kissing you and generally waffling on about being totally into you, which is understandable because the girl has eyes.'

Quinn nods, and Ashleigh mentally pats herself on the back for accurately summing up three months of bullshit.

'And so, you, being an idiot, decide to go to New York, and kiss her a lot and be horizontal lesbians, because you thought it would fix things?'

'No, it wasn't like that.'

'Oh, wow, you went vertical lesbians first time? Bravo Quinn; I hear that shit is challenging.'

This results in a kick, but Quinn laughs at her anyway.

'No, you complete… I didn't think it would fix anything. I just really…needed to see her.'

Ashleigh nods sagely, and tries to act like she isn't imagining one of her best friends having sex.

'To have your wicked way with her? Seems sensible.'

Quinn glares at her, and then takes another drink.

'You are being spectacularly unhelpful, right now. For the record. I was not planning for things to go that far, it was just, I mean, I wanted to see whether she and I could, I mean, to see what it would be like, if we were, in a parallel universe where she is available and I'm not a disaster, see how a date between us would work out.'

Naww, Quinn loses all of her ability to talk in reasonable sentences, a bottle and a half down the line. Ashleigh squeezes at her shoulder.

'You are not a disaster, Quinn. So, maybe this time for you and Rachel isn't right. Give it a bit of time. Let everything calm down a bit. See what happens, how you feel. Rachel's is probably confused too, so, you know. Thinking time.'

Quinn makes a sad little face, and man, Rachel must be a lunatic to not be sure about what she wants, look at this girl.

'I don't want to not be able to see her again. She's… we're really good friends, I think.'

Ashleigh shrugs.

'Okay, so you guys will figure something out. And if it is just friends, and we must never mention this again, at least you got to touch her boobs once. They look like excellent boobs.'

That one earns her a smack on the back of her head, but Ashleigh's had enough of this outrageous abuse, and grabs the bottle out of Quinn's hands, setting off down the street at a sprint, leaving Quinn laughing behind her.

…

* * *

Okay, because Quinn is apparently bionic woman, Ashleigh only gets half a block away before Quinn pretty much just tackles her from behind, and they crash into a friendly bush.

Bush. Heh. As they lever themselves upright, removing leaves, Ashleigh considers another hilarious joke, but then Quinn reaches over, and pats her on the head.

'Thanks for tonight Ash. And, yes, her boobs are excellent.'

Ashleigh holds two hands high up in the air, not sure what she is celebrating, but doing so anyway.

...


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks for continuing to stay with me. I'm glad it is entertaining you :)**

* * *

Brittany has decided that she needs to go live on the East Coast.

Not because she'd be closer to Santana, although that would be awesome and they could totally have joint custody of Lord Tubbs, and maybe get a couple of other peers too, but because stuff is happening over there, she can _feel _it, but she can't ask Santana because Santana knows nothing.

And Quinn isn't answering her phone, Rachel isn't picking up, and Brittany doesn't know if Kurt knows, and the whole thing is making Brittany's head hurt.

Ashleigh just keeps telling her that Quinn is fine. Brittany asked her whether that means Quinn own special brand of fine, where she pretends to be fine but really isn't, or actually fine. Ashleigh's answer was inconclusive, and Brittany thinks Ashleigh doesn't know either.

Facebook is suspiciously quiet, which is never a good sign.

Brittany wants to help.

She just doesn't know how, who, or whether help is actually required.

It's a bit of a challenge.

…

* * *

After a week, it's easier to breathe.

Quinn can feel some of the pressure that had seemed to be squeezing her chest easing away slightly.

If she isn't there, if she doesn't contact Rachel, then Rachel can't get caught.

And sure, so maybe she does still think about Rachel all the time, but at least she isn't panicking, this way. At least she isn't counting the minutes until something goes wrong.

She's screening all her calls. She hasn't been on Facebook. She has not read any messages.

It's working. This could work.

Quinn is well aware of her short comings. She knows she is prone to making mistakes, and is often emotionally manipulative, as well as emotionally _unavailable_ when she feels threatened.

She isn't very good at being rejected. Which is why, whenever that looks like becoming a risk, it is easier to reject first.

There's a reason her love life is dead. She doesn't let anyone close. The only reason that Rachel got as close as she did was because… well, they started off as friends. The lines were blurred there, for a while.

Quinn really hopes that they could be friends again. Maybe in the future. In five years time. Rachel and Brody could be living together, and have a kid, and Quinn could bump into her on a street somewhere, and they could have five minutes of _wow, remember when we were young and pretending to be attracted to each other. Wasn't that crazy? _ And they could laugh, and then Quinn could come around for dinner.

Quinn feels her eyes start to prickle at the notion of Rachel and Brody getting married, and she pinches herself angrily, because she's about to go visit her tutor for a discussion about post grad studies, and she needs to be on the ball.

Rachel is making this easy for her. She hasn't been in touch once, after that first message.

Five years feels a hell of a long time when a week has been close to an eternity.

…

* * *

Ashleigh looks up when the door closes, and then grins at Quinn from her position on the couch.

'Hey… how did it go?'

Quinn grimaces a little bit, and then tosses her folder on to the coffee table, slumping in a chair.

'Yeah…it's fine. The woman talks too much, in circles, she's impossible to follow. It's hard to get excited about something if you aren't sure you actually want to stay.'

Ashleigh nods, and reaches for her slice of toast. She certainly will not be staying on to complete post-grad studies, because she knows when to call time on something she hates, but Quinn's the sort of person who could do anything, and so why not stay on? If she got into Yale after what sounds like the most bizarre high school career of any person, ever, (seriously, what the fuck, with all the singing and babies and cheerleading and then a _fucking truck_) then Quinn could actually be a genius, if she manages to have a year where a significant distraction doesn't rear its head.

Speaking of distractions… 'Have you heard from Rachel?'

Quinn frowns at her.

'No. And stop asking.'

See, Ashleigh is pretty confused. Either Quinn is lying, which is a likely option, she guesses, or Rachel is making the inexplicable choice of going back to Brody.

'That sucks. Do you need me to visit her and call her names?'

Whoa, okay, Quinn nearly snarls at her this time.

'No. Do that and your body will never be found.'

Jeez, protective much? Ashleigh stands to retrieve a magazine from her room, and swats Quinn lightly around the head with it when she returns. Quinn grunts slightly at her.

'Sorry.'

'Whatever, grumpy arse. You are under emotional strain, I get that. When Fringe finished I experienced similar emotions. So come on then, let's process this. What's your perfect outcome?'

Quinn shrugs after a moment, and rolls her shoulders.

'What kind of a moron hopes for perfect outcomes?'

Ashleigh bites her lip, because she wants the best for Quinn, she really does. You don't live with someone for three years without ending up caring about them, and Ashleigh does care about Quinn, despite her slight tendency for violence.

'Well, let's imagine that dreams come true for a moment.'

Quinn snorts, and then picks up her folder again, leafing through the pages.

'Sorry, I didn't realize you were a Disney princess… okay, that we all manage to just forget about it. That I get to keep Rachel as a friend. That everyone stops asking me about it.'

Ashleigh watches Quinn's face, and she's so sad, Ashleigh kind of wishes they were the sort of friends that actually hug, because Quinn looks like she needs one. Instead Ashleigh's going to have to stick to what she knows.

'Okay, so let's imagine a scenario in which Rachel breaks up with Brody, and then turns up at your door…possibly naked, possibly not…what do you do?'

Quinn scoffs.

'Look, it was a day dream, Ashleigh. If Rachel leaves Brody for me…how am I supposed to deal with that? That just creates this high pressure situation in which I have to be perfect, and the day that the whole thing crashes and burns, I'll have lost her forever. I don't want to lose her. So I'll wait it out. Until we can be friends again.'

Ashleigh doesn't know what brand of crazy logic Quinn's employing here, but it sounds completely mental, and needlessly harsh on the things that Quinn wants.

'Quinn, you can't spend the whole of your life avoiding romance purely for your fear of failure…'

Quinn stands, and snaps her folder closed, and Ashleigh realizes that this is the end of discussion for today.

'Sure I can, Ash. Watch me.'

For someone who has to be close to a genius, Quinn is pretty good at behaving like an idiot. Ashleigh calls after her, just before Quinn's door clicks shut.

'Call Brittany some time, will you? To let her know that everything is hunky dory with you.'

…

* * *

Quinn sits on her bed, and breathes in deeply through her nose.

She is okay.

There's a pile of notes on her desk, which she has been diligently color coding and cross referencing. First exam is in a week. On her wardrobe door, the studying timetable that she had designed for herself lends to the impression that Quinn has everything completely under control. It has been largely ignored, because study is easier on an ad hoc basis, Quinn finds.

Quinn eases off her shoes, and hangs her blazer up in her wardrobe. It doesn't smell like Rachel anymore, hasn't done so in a long time, so it is safe to wear it.

She just needs to relax. Normally that would mean heading down to the gym, but Quinn is aware the Ashleigh is probably lurking outside, braced to ask her more questions about things she doesn't want to talk about.

Her mom used to do yoga to relax. She probably still does. Quinn considers searching basic yoga moves, but decides against it, because there's procrastination and then there is just fucking stupid.

She retrieves her phone from her bag, opens her missed calls list.

Twenty…three from Brittany. From anyone else it is borderline harassment. From Brittany, it is just a visual reminder of Quinn's guilty conscience.

She presses call without thinking about it, because if Quinn is going to continue tell everyone that she is fine, she will need to start acting like she is at some point too.

'Quinn! Quinn. I'm… jeez Quinn, could you have picked up one of the other bazillion times; I'm in the middle of a class.'

Brittany does sound out of breath, and there is lots of background noise. Quinn is relieved.

'Oh, sorry Brit, I didn't know. I'll call you another time…'

Brittany yells at her, and Quinn nearly drops the phone.

'No! Just, stay there, because another time will probably be a lot later, and plenty of my brain cells and your brain cells will have died, and I feel like I'm going to need all of them.'

The background noise clarifies itself into the sound of children screaming and laughing, and there's music playing. Brittany holds the phone away from her mouth for a second, and calls out.

'Pretend time for five minutes little people! You are all…pirates who burp a lot. Go!'

Quinn snorts, and then smiles despite herself. Brittany returns after a second.

'Sorry about that… so. How are you? Don't say fine.'

Quinn frowns. 'But I am fine.'

'Oh, blah blah Quinn, if you were fine you would actually pick up the phone like a normal person. What's happened?'

Standing, Quinn tugs her curtains across her window, because the sunlight had been getting in her eyes. From down the phone there's a muffled _yeargh, _and Quinn has a vision of Brittany trying to conduct a sensible conversation while fending off hyperactive children.

'I was just… I am fine. I was just practicing being fine by myself for a while, so I could be just as fine when I have an audience.'

Brittany hums for a moment, and then abruptly yells 'Chickens with only one leg! Go!' Then, at a more normal level, says 'Is Rachel fine? I can't get hold of her either… and why would you need to practice being fine Quinn, you're normally a pro…. Oh, did something bad happen between you and Rachel? It totally did.'

Quinn clears her throat, because saying it out loud is pretty hard, even if it is only Brittany.

'I…she and I… we had sex.'

Brittany whistles, and there's a thump and a squawk in the background. Then she tuts at herself.

'Dammit, I knew I should have sent that message earlier… you had s-e-x, and then you found out she was moving in with Brody, and you argued?'

Quinn makes a face.

'Well, no, I got your message, but then she turned up, and… I don't know, we both stopped thinking for a bit, and then we had sex.'

Brittany is quiet for a moment, and blows some air at her.

'Huh… well that was pretty stupid, if you don't mind me saying.'

Biting her lip, Quinn nods, unseen.

'Well, it has happened. Anyway, it made Rachel come to her senses, and she's trying to make things work with Brody, I think. Which is completely fine with me, because I never wanted a relationship with her. I should not have let things get as far as they did. So I'm giving her a bit of time. Giving myself a bit of time. I've got exams happening in a week; I need to concentrate.'

'_Vampires with broken hearts, guys!_ Uh, Quinn, why are you saying so many lies? I can see your lies, and I can't even see you, which means they might be visible from space.'

Quinn sighs at her, and rolls her eyes, but if she's consigning herself to a future of lying about this, she might as well start with Brittany.

'Brittany…seriously. It would never have worked. This is for the best.'

'So if you are so okay with everything, why have you been ignoring me? I was worried. It made me sad. That Ashleigh girl wouldn't tell me things, and that was okay because maybe you told her to stay quiet, but I was your friend first Quinn. You can't just use Ashleigh for everything. Are you angry with me, for telling you about Rachel?'

There's an ache, just under her rib cage, that Quinn associates with guilt. She doesn't get it very often.

'I'm not mad at you Brittany. It was just… Ashleigh is simpler to talk to because she doesn't know me and Rachel like you do. You know all the history, it makes it harder.'

'_Things beginning with the letter B! _Don't do it again please. I like trying to fix things, but I can't if you don't tell me what is going on.'

Quinn tucks her lower lip beneath her teeth, because the temptation is there to just ask Brittany to don a cape, and come over and ask straight-forward questions until everything does get fixed is very strong, but she's made a resolution to herself.

'It doesn't need fixing Brit. It's fine. It has fixed itself.'

Brittany sighs at her, and then yelps slightly, distracted.

'Well, that isn't true, but suit yourself. Talk to me, the next time I call, please. But now I have to go because I have a bumble bee clinging to my leg, and a… what are you? And a booger, trying to sit on my head.'

Quinn smiles, despite herself.

'I'll be fine. I'll pick up, next time.'

Brittany laughs.

'You'd better, or I'll send my fleet of zombie rabbits to come get you. _Did you hear that? Zombie rabbits!'_

Quinn laughs too, and ends the call.

There. She can do this. Quinn knows how to do single and broken hearted. It is far more familiar territory than happy and in a relationship.

…

* * *

Kurt just feels… a little uneasy.

'Rachel… you know I'm your friend. And so, I just think that I am duty bound, really, to remind you of what a good thing you've had with Brody. If you speak to him, apologize, maybe don't mention the whole Quinn thing, but instead claim cold feet and extreme drunkenness… or something… you guys could fix this?'

Rachel is adjusting the sleeves of her cardigan in front of their mirror by the door, mouth set firm.

'Have you ever heard of someone being eighty per cent in love?'

'No, Rachel, but you cannot rely on rhetorical questions to make this the right decision. You and Brody are a good thing. You were happy, together. That must be worth something.'

Rachel's leaving, to go visit Brody at some neutral territory, he can't stop that. What he is hoping to do, however, is to try and convince her not to make any harsh decisions.

She and Brody have been avoiding each other for nearly a week, and Kurt has tried to not get involved, listened without comment or judgement as Rachel has listed aloud the reasons she shouldn't be with Brody any more.

All of Rachel's reasons are to do with her. How she isn't ready, and she isn't happy, and she needs to actually figure out what she's doing with her life, and stop wasting time with Brody. It's all very sudden.

Kurt can't help but think this is all linked to Quinn, even though her name isn't mentioned once. He isn't sure how he feels about Rachel pretending it isn't.

Rachel checks her phone, once, and then looks at him.

'Are you seriously advocating staying in a relationship which I am not happy with?'

Kurt refrains from rolling his eyes.

'No, I'm advocating not making any hasty decisions about a relationship when you are in the middle of processing the fact that you slept with someone else. Someone who has responded to this by disappearing from the face of the planet… I mean seriously, you're going to leave Brody, even though Quinn is indicating she wants nothing more to do with you?'

Rachel sighs at him, and picks up her bag.

'Why is everything to do with Quinn?'

'Because your enormous shift in attitude towards Brody has happened at the same time Quinn started messing with your head! I'm just saying… swapping a good thing for a bad thing is a useless idea, Rachel. She hasn't contacted you since. Think long term, for god's sake.'

Rachel stares at him, for the longest moment, and this is what friends do, isn't it? Challenge people when they are about to make foolish choices?

'I'm going to see Brody, I'll be late if I don't leave now. And I'll do what feels right when I'm face to face with him. And by the way Kurt, there's a difference between helping me process something and insisting I stay in a relationship purely because you don't want to lose a friend. Are you saying all this because it is best for me, Brody, or you?'

Kurt's got nothing in response to that except a look of outrage, and Rachel closes the door quietly behind her.

…

* * *

This is the right thing, that she is attempting to do.

Rachel has done a great deal of examining her conscience, these last few days. Trying to reverse the situation.

If she were Brody, what would she want to happen?

The challenge is, of course, trying to second guess whether she and Quinn would ever resume their dalliance, in which case breaking up with Brody seems obvious.

However, all the signs are pointing to no, at this moment, so maybe that isn't the best way to judge things.

Is it fair to stay with Brody, when she has proven to herself that, when push comes to shove, there are people out there which can cause her to be unfaithful? Is it fair to stay with Brody when her head is full of someone else?

Rachel has avoided Brody for nearly a week, and he has avoided her. She has tried to ignore everything about her life that isn't her studies, and not think about anything at all.

Despite her best efforts, she keeps thinking about Quinn, but the who of the matter is largely irrelevant, isn't it? She's not thinking about Brody. This much is indicative of the fact that she should break up with him.

It is very easy, to calmly sit here and dissect what is the correct thing to do, waiting for the train to pull into the correct station. The challenge will be in the moment, sitting opposite someone who she cares about, and telling him that she is leaving him.

He's a friend, as well as her boyfriend. How do you tell a friend that you don't want to see them anymore?

Rachel turns over one of Kurt's phrases in her head, sitting by herself in a crowded carriage. _Think long term._ And that's just it, isn't it? Short term fix, long term unhappiness. Short term heartbreak, long term happiness.

Rachel sighs, and leans her head back against the window. This would be so much easier if she could just communicate this telepathically. Inevitably, her words are going to get in the way.

…

* * *

Brody has decided to wear a shirt. He has, in fact, attempted to look at his very best, because if Rachel is determined to pull the rug out from under his feet, he wants to at least have some defences on to protect him from the bruises when he trips.

They're going to a restaurant, one they always intended to visit but had never gotten around to. Brody is determined that this will be civilized. He's going to smile when he greets her, and tell her she looks beautiful, pull her chair out for her, and see what she has to say.

The anger has numbed now, somewhat. Now he just feels… betrayed, somehow. By Rachel _and_ Kurt. The level of secrets. For Rachel to have had all of these doubts about living with him, and to not say a word to Brody… well, Rachel like to process things out loud. Kurt _must_ have known.

He's told his goddamn family. He's going to look like an idiot.

Brody doesn't trust anything, anymore. Is Rachel happy, when she's with him? Has she ever been happy? If he could be this wrong about this, where does it leave the rest of their relationship, the last three years?

He's always felt certain, about Rachel. As if she was someone who he could rely upon. Now…

He catches her eye just as she rounds the corner, almost unwillingly. They had arranged to meet her, outside the restaurant, but it's still surprising, somehow, and leaves Brody feeling unbalanced. This week has pretty much been the longest they've gone without seeing each other, barring the summer break of their first year together.

She does look beautiful. It makes it easier to say.

…

* * *

She doesn't taste anything.

In fact, this entire evening is surreal. Brody hasn't said at all about the whole _I was lying about moving in_ thing, and is politely small talking his way through dinner. He asks after her dads, talks briefly about the show, sympathizes with her about the difficulties and pressures of final year. He is charming, polite, perfect.

Rachel wonders, abstractly, whether Brody is deliberately being perfect in order to heighten her guilty conscience, to take some form of revenge in that manner. But no, probably not. He's too nice to even think of that.

Kurt wanted her to think about things, to see how she felt when she was sat in front of Brody. And she's here. And she feels… exactly as she did a year ago. And a year ago they were just fine.

But now… it's as though her heart has found an extra gear, an extra capacity to beat just that little bit harder, and Brody isn't going to be enough, anymore. This isn't going to be enough.

…

* * *

He manfully chomps his way through almost all of the entrée before the question claws its way up his throat.

'What's been going on, Rachel, please?'

Rachel places her knife and fork carefully to one side, and presses at her mouth with her napkin.

She sighs, after a second.

'This is hard, Brody.'

Brody nods, and waits. This week hasn't exactly been easy for him, either. This pause, while Rachel gathers herself, isn't easy.

'It's harder because you are sitting there, being perfectly civilized and pleasant, when you have every right to be completely furious with me.'

Brody looks down, and clears his throat slightly, because despite them both being drama students, he'd prefer to not have more words than are strictly necessary, on this occasion.

'You don't want to live with me.'

Rachel shakes her head, and then says no, firmly, as if Brody has just asked her whether she wanted to go live on the moon. As if it was never an option. He feels something inside him begin to crumble.

'But you pretended that you did.'

Rachel blinks upwards, towards the lights above them, and when she looks back her eyes are full of tears.

'I shouldn't have said yes. I'm… I've been very confused, Brody, and I'm sorry. But I didn't want to lose you, because you're so important to me, and we've done so much together, but… it's not right.'

Brody feels his mouth tighten as he fights not to react, and looks just past Rachel, over her shoulder, because it's easier.

'The living with me isn't right? Or the being with me? Did I do something wrong?'

At that point a waiter comes over, and removes their plates. There is a quiet enquiry about whether they would be wanting anything else, and Brody waves him away without checking with Rachel.

Rachel gulps twice, and then speaks.

'I've been awful, Brody… but it wasn't supposed to mean anything, but then it did, and now I can't get them out of my head.'

Them?

'There's someone else. You've met someone else?'

He didn't mean for it to come out as a question, because he doesn't want to know. Wants to be far away from this place, somewhere where Rachel isn't sitting opposite him, looking like this is hurting _her._

'Yes…I'm sorry. There has been someone else. But it wasn't just them, that was just a… catalyst for me realizing how I've been, recently, and, well, I shouldn't be feeling like this, it isn't right, it isn't ethical, for this to continue as it is, because…'

This has the feeling of a pre-practiced speech, one that Rachel has been thinking about for a while, and tweaking her delivery, standing in front of a mirror to rehearse. The first stab of anger appears, and Brody cuts across her, sharp.

'Is this you trying to explain yourself, Rachel? Because honestly, I'm not sure I want to hear it.'

Rachel sucks in a deep breath, and seems to steady herself, before looking straight at him.

'No Brody. This is me breaking up with you.'

He thinks she says _I'm sorry_ again. He cannot be sure.

...


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello, thank you for all your thoughts and encouragement on the story! At the moment, my job is actually having the audacity to require me to work, so I've slowed up a bit by necessity. Thanks for staying with me :)**

* * *

Santana is probably in trouble, at work. Luckily for her, she doesn't give two shits about that place.

Instead of heading back to NY, she'd made a snap decision to go home for a few days. Lima felt old, somehow, from a different time, but her mom is still her mom, and Santana's a bit exhausted by the relentless fending for herself that adulthood seems to involve.

But it has been kind of boring, these past few days. She doesn't enjoy the sensation of being stuck.

She'd gotten back to her apartment, re-arranged her bedding, because despite Quinn being the neatest person alive, she had seemingly stepped out of Santana's bed and not looked back to tidy, and then, sparked into action, embarked on the mother of all spring cleans.

She actually moved furniture, and vacuumed _behind_ it. She feels this alone deserves wider recognition than it receives. Possibly on a global scale.

Santana is elbow deep in the cupboard under the sink, throwing out countless cleaning products that only seem to have a teaspoon's worth of liquid left in each, when she hears the front door open. She rocks back on her heels, and calls out a greeting.

It's Lydia, and Santana raises a bleach bottle in greeting.

'Hey… do any of these belong to you? I'm thinking of throwing them all out.'

Lydia steps past her, and dumped her bag on the counter.

'Go for it… what's with the clean? You know your friend came last weekend, right?'

Santana shrugs, and returns to her stock check.

'Yeah… I just wanted the kitchen to not smell so odd. Don't complain.'

There's the noise of Lydia opening the fridge, and rearranging some jars, and then she's off again.

'I thought you and Quinn were hooking up, did you get your dates wrong or something?'

'Huh? No; Quinn doesn't do sex, or, I don't know, human emotions. She's just a friend, she needed a place to sleep, and I wasn't in the city, so it made sense.'

Santana stands up at this point, ignoring the protest from her knees, and starts ferrying the bleach bottles into the recycling bin. Lydia leans over to help.

'Oh, I guess I just thought…wow, she comes a lot then, for a friend, no?'

Santana shrugs.

'I guess. She knows other people in the city, it isn't just me that she visits. There's, you know, Rachel, and… well, I guess it's mainly Rachel. And me, obviously. I'm the important one.'

Lydia nods vaguely, and flaps a hand.

'Obviously. So, do you go and visit her, then, or…'

'Nah, not much, New Haven's a bit of a nowhere, honestly. And I'm busy. Rachel goes quite often, I think.'

Lydia snorts, after a second.

'Sure, and you are definitely the important one, in this?'

Santana frowns at her, because what is Lydia even talking about here…wait a second.

Wait one goddamn second.

…

* * *

Kurt receives an inexplicable message from Santana one idle Sunday morning, as he contemplates creating oatmeal. He's always felt that eating oatmeal was somewhat of a noble undertaking, done not for enjoyment, but in order to feel superior to the poor souls who had not eaten oatmeal for breakfast.

Thankfully, Santana's message reaches him as he is shying away from the harsh realities of what oatmeal involves, and he flicks on the coffee machine in relief, before sitting at the table.

_Truth: Is Quinn better friends with Rachel than me? Not that this is still high school, but I'm not a natural number two, okay? Your thoughts, Kurt._

One day, Kurt hopes to become embroiled in an overblown, hyper dramatic love affair that is so wide reaching it consumes all of Rachel's free time, just so she can appreciate what Kurt is currently living through.

He screws up his face, and tries to figure out if Santana knows about the Faberry conundrum.

Quinn will not have told her. Rachel says she hasn't spoken to Santana. Quinn… may have spoken to Brittany. If Kurt needed to speak to someone about feelings, and the choice was between Santana and Brittany, he knows where he'd go. If Brittany knows, she may have told Santana… but then Santana wouldn't allude to it vaguely by text. She'd be here, kicking Kurt's door down, demanding to know why she wasn't clued in earlier.

Quinn would probably, if speaking to anyone, have kept it to her New Haven friends. Possibly that Ashleigh monstrosity.

Santana doesn't know. Okay.

_Good morning to you too. I would say that you are different sorts of friends._

That much is true. Santana and Quinn's friendship doesn't involve making out and doing unspeakable things to each other on Kurt's couch. At least, he hopes not. Oh god, that really would be the end of his sanity.

_Because I'm the funny cool one? _

Kurt nods to himself, because sure, why not?

_Exactly. Are you back in Brooklyn? We should do lunch, no?_

While he waits for Santana's response, Kurt finds his eye drawn to the box, sat by their front door.

The Brody box.

Rachel had come home from her date with Brody, with red eyes. It had been all Kurt had needed to understand, but he was feeling slightly bruised from their previous encounter, so had sat at the kitchen table, and stared resolutely at his Macbook screen, determined to not be the one to speak first.

With quick, staccato steps, Rachel had disappeared into her room, only to emerge ten minutes later with a box in her arms. There was an arm of one of Brody's sweaters hanging over the edge. Rachel placed the box carefully by the door, and then turned to Kurt, hands on her hips.

'Regardless of whether you approve for the direction my life is taking, at some point in the next few days, Brody will contact you in order to arrange a time when he can come pick up his belongings. If you could help him with that I would appreciate it, and Kurt, even though I've been terrible to him, at least I'm done being terrible now, whereas any alternative solution would have resulted in extended terribleness, and I'm not supposed to be a nasty person, this isn't how…'

Her voice had wobbled all over the place for the final sentence, and Kurt had stood up, and held out his arms to her. Because they're both terrible people, in their own way.

Rachel had cried for a while, as Kurt had stroked her hair and murmured a couple of apologies. Eventually he had asked, softly, 'Why are you so upset, Rachel? This is what you had decided to do.'

Rachel nodded in his arms, and then untangled herself, wiping away tears with her hands.

'I'm upset because I've hurt Brody, I, he… he's really sad.'

It was a break, ultimately, that Rachel had agreed to. From what Kurt can translate, in Rachel's mind it was a break that was going to last forever.

The message from Santana pulls him out of his contemplation.

_Maybe dinner tomorrow? I'm in the shit at work, I should probably actually turn up today. _

Kurt texts back his confirmation, and slices a bagel.

…

* * *

It's been three days, since she had dinner with Brody.

This is the thought that she wakes up with every day. As though the cumulative total is somehow important.

Rachel stretches, attempting to wake up her joints, and rolls onto her side to check her phone.

Nothing. Rachel doesn't know why she continues to expect, because Quinn had told her not to contact her, and then pretty much just fled the zip code to get away from her, so cute early morning texts would seem to be off the table.

Rachel wonders, sometimes, if they had just managed to avoid having sex, if she'd just managed to screw up her nerve to the point where dumping Brody became the obvious thing to do, which it should have been, weeks ago, whether her and Quinn would be dating, now.

Dating. Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry.

It sounds ludicrous, bordering on the impossible. Rachel cannot even imagine Santana's face in response.

She can imagine waking up with Quinn. She can imagine making out with Quinn in dark corners of parties, and holding hands furtively in taxis, and _pretending_ to be just friends when she goes to visit New Haven, and borrowing one of Quinn's t-shirts because she's conveniently forgotten all of hers.

She can't imagine Quinn saying 'oh, and this is Rachel. My girlfriend.'

Kurt spent much of the time before her arranged break up date with Brody reminding Rachel that Quinn doesn't do relationships. According to Kurt, McKinley Quinn did cheating, affairs, short lived acceptance of devotion, schemes, plots, and flirtation deployed as a weapon. And Yale Quinn either does celibacy, or incredibly secret flings, of which Rachel could be one of many.

And Rachel had never once mentioned Quinn's name, when she was talking about leaving Brody. Because she wasn't leaving Brody because of Quinn. She was leaving because of, well, herself, really.

Sometimes the phrase _it's not you, it's me_ is the only appropriate thing, regardless of the cliché attached.

She could ignore all of Kurt's anti Quinn propaganda, at the time, because leaving Brody was the right thing to do, she could mentally compartmentalise all the blather coming out of Kurt's mouth, because Quinn wasn't _the point._

Now that Rachel's got time, however, it keeps rearing its head.

Sometimes, when she reviews her encounters with Quinn in McKinley, it feels a great deal like…not flirtation, but certainly something more intense than friendship. Particularly because they weren't even friends for much of it, for reasons lost on Rachel.

She nearly messages Quinn at that point with a bald _why weren't we friends in high school_, but decides that it is unlikely to get a response. Besides, Rachel isn't supposed to be contacting her.

She's single now. She's allowed to spend all her time thinking about Quinn.

It doesn't stop her feeling guilty though.

…

* * *

Kurt is at the breakfast table, playing idly with his phone and eating the remains of a bagel. Rachel perches on the chair and rubs at her eyes, trying to wake up.

'Why do you think Quinn and I weren't friends in high school?'

Kurt's eyebrows raise slightly, and Rachel thinks this might be the first time she's allowed herself to introduce Quinn as a topic of conversation.

'You mean asides from her relentless bullying campaign and you stealing her boyfriend? Can't imagine.'

Rachel scrunches her nose up, because Kurt is being singularly unhelpful at the moment, she should have remembered.

'Kurt, can you just, leave it now, please? You _liked _Quinn before all this, remember?'

After a moment, Kurt sighs, and puts his phone down carefully on the table top. He smiles apologetically at her.

'I know. And I still do. I just… her track record is…'

'Nothing to do with any of this. Look, I understand you think you're being protective but this really isn't helping right now.'

Kurt eyes her in silence for a while, until Rachel fidgets under his gaze, aware of the blush building on her cheeks.

'You really like her, don't you? Even though she has nothing to do with you leaving Brody, of course… you really like her?'

When she can meet his eye again, there's another smile, understanding this time. Rachel bites at her lip, and looks down at her fingers.

'Yes, you… ass. This Quinn bashing is not okay. I'm probably beyond rationality, at this point.'

Kurt lifts himself from his seat, and circles the table to come kiss her on the forehead, with a quick squeeze to her shoulder.

'And all my hard work for nothing, huh? You'd be beautiful together, the pair of you. Just don't let her hurt you.'

Rachel shrugs, and pokes at him until he moves away.

'I've probably hurt her more, so far. Go put an arm around her shoulders.'

Kurt scoffs slightly at her, and moves away, reaching for his jacket by the door.

'I'd lose an arm if I tried that…joking, Rachel, don't look at me like that… we'll have a pow wow tonight, shall we? Over hot chocolate. Decide your next move in the task of seducing Quinn Fabray.'

A memory wells up within her that she really doesn't need to be dealing with at this early stage of the day, and Rachel bites her lip.

'The seduction side thus far hasn't appeared to be the problem…'

Kurt holds up a hand, mock horror on his face.

'Please stop, Rachel. I will not be discussing that, ever. I'll see you later tonight, okay? No more Quinn bashing, I swear.'

Rachel waves him off with a half smile, and traipses back into her room with a banana from the fridge. She checks her phone again, because she enjoys pain, and sits on her bed, checking her diary.

This is her first day free in a week. Day free from auditions, or NYADA seminars on how not to be a failure, or some hideous combination of the two.

Her schedule has been ratcheting up, this past month, but her eye has not been on the ball and she's been blowing auditions left right and center. Rachel's becoming an old hand at asking for constructive criticism without allowing her smile to flicker even slightly.

Brody hadn't got a job by now. She's fine.

The panel always ask for a little more, or a little less, as if they can sense how off balance Rachel has been feeling. Rachel's worried that this is what failing feels like, maybe.

Rachel reaches for her phone, and toys with it, absent-mindedly.

Part of her just wants to message Quinn and say _I've left Brody. Can I come visit? _But she doesn't, just because she isn't sure she can deal with another rejection.

Her free hand finds the programs that Quinn gave her, at Brittany's party a lifetime ago, at the back of her planner. She hasn't signed them, because she feels like that could be jinxing things, somehow.

She runs her fingers down the spine instead, and remembers.

…

* * *

Quinn is not panicking about the exam. She'll be okay. She has never screwed up an exam in her life, including a batch she had to take while she was in a goddamn wheelchair.

In terms of distraction levels, one ill advised hook up with a friend cannot possibly be on the same scale as getting hit by a truck.

She's studying hard. The words are not blurring underneath her eyes. Her train of thought is entirely intact. There are no distractions.

She's got…seventeen hours until the exam starts.

Rachel hasn't contacted her once.

Santana has contacted her five times since this morning. She's hidden her phone under her pillow to avoid the distraction. She considered giving it to Ashleigh to look after, but then remembered that Ashleigh is Ashleigh, and that would never be a good idea.

There's a knock on her door, and Quinn grunts a greeting. It eases open after a moment.

It's Ashleigh.

'I come in peace! With toast. Which is in pieces, appropriately. For you.'

Quinn leans away from her table, and smiles, shoving a slice into her mouth.

'Thanks mom.'

Ashleigh perches on the edge of Quinn's bed, and picks up a slice herself.

'How's it going? Any words you don't understand?'

Quinn snorts at her, and flicks a pen lid at her head.

'No, thank you. You can go now, you'll just distract me otherwise. Leave the toast.'

Ashleigh flicks the pen lid back, and takes another slice as she stands.

'Entertain is not the same as distract, FYI. Also, Santana, you know, the one who is your friend, has been blowing up my phone. Can you start speaking to your friends, please? Or stop being so popular?'

Quinn rolls her eyes at her, and turns back to her notes.

'Not sure popular is the word, Ash. Can you let her know I'm studying, phone is off, okay? Thanks.'

…

* * *

Santana hates her job. When she leaves, she's going to hand in her resignation and flip a couple of tables on the way out.

Brittany was saying that the dance company that she works for is hiring. Not people to do the actual dancing, but people to promote it and organise things. Brittany announced all this as Santana was boarding the plan, with the thought that Santana would be good, and Brittany could put in a word.

Santana would like the record to show that she can dance just as well as nearly all of Brittany's co-workers, but the concept of telling those muppets what to do is appealing, ultimately. Plus, she could make sure that Brittany's teaching schedule suits her plans with pin point accuracy.

It is… certainly an option. A tempting one. Even if it does mean moving to the other side of the country.

Moving closer to Brittany.

The apartment girls are fun, and Rachel and Kurt have proved themselves to be far more tolerable than she had originally anticipated, but Brittany is… well, everyone in the world comes second to Brittany, in reality. It's just the question of how, and whether she's brave enough.

The one time, the one damn time that Santana actually needs to speak to Quinn for advice, rather than to just call her up and bitch about people, and Quinn isn't answering. Hasn't answered for two days. Santana, frowning darkly at her phone while trying to maintain her personal space on a too crowded subway cart, assumes that if it was _Rachel _calling, she'd be straight through.

The thought causes a different cog to spin in Santana's brain, and she realizes she's probably been calling the wrong person anyway. Who in their right mind would call Quinn Fabray to discuss the concept of taking a relationship to the next stage?

Rachel's number is right next to Quinn's in Santana's phone book. Santana has always approved of the convenience.

'Rachel? Hi… hang on, let me just reach ground level…'

Santana puts her phone in her pocket, and weaves between the rush hour crowds up to the surface. A man in a suit nearly takes her out with his suitcase, but she survives. When she reaches questionably fresher air, she holds the phone back to her ear, during which time Rachel has seemingly been yapping on to thin air.

'….Santana, are you even there? You can't just call someone and then put them on hold, have you not even the faintest notion of communication etiquette, for all you know I could be incredibly busy and this call a complete inconvenience to my plans for this particular moment of my day, and so…'

Santana interrupts her monolog.

'Are you, incredibly busy? What have you been doing?'

There's a pause, and then Rachel clears her throat.

'Well, nothing beyond watching re-runs of Mad Men and making fruit smoothies. But I could have been busy. I usually am busy.'

Santana grunts at her, and tucks her phone under her chin so she can open her purse, to buy a magazine from a vendor through sign language.

'Whatever, Berry, I was just checking that you weren't in exam hell as well. Quinn has fallen off the fucking planet, she's ignoring me.'

Santana flips through the first couple of pages as she walks, and then notices Rachel hasn't said anything.

'Rachel?'

'Well, Quinn's absence from the communicative world is understandable, Yale examinations are no doubt serious business and require full focus on one's studies, which means all extraneous distractions surely need to be side lined… but is she okay?'

Santana rolls her eyes at thin air, because although Rachel's standard overuse of words becomes tolerable, it never becomes ignorable.

'I don't know Berry, like I said, I can't get hold of her. So you'll do. Try not to speak too much though, okay? Internal processing, please…'

…

* * *

Rachel is proud of herself, for how easy it is to say.

When Santana asks her what she thinks about the concept of her and Brittany living together, Rachel can nod, and smile, and words flow simply.

'Oh! You guys would be wonderful together, you make being in love look so straight-forward, yes, definitely. Why, are you going to ask her to move here?'

Santana laughs at her after a second, and seems pleased with Rachel's response from the warmth in her voice.

'Why, are you planning to arrange viewing for us in all the places you and Brody have rejected?'

There it is. Conversational opening. Mention it like it is no big deal, then back to Santana's life.

'Oh, Brody and I broke up. But I'm sure I could give you the details of the agent who was looking for us, you two would probably have very similar needs to the ones that we suggested on our…'

'What? You two… what?'

Rachel feels her finger nails bite into her palm, and realizes she's clenching her fist. She goes for breezy and unconcerned.

'It's nothing really…not the right time for us… no big deal, it was just…'

'_No big deal?_ Rachel… what the fuck… when did this happen, and why? Explain yourself, you can't just drop that in and not expect… what the fuck, Rachel, why didn't you mention this to anyone?'

It's as though Santana's reaction makes the whole thing not so simple, anymore, not so easy. Abruptly she feels tears well up, because she really just wants to talk about Quinn, about how Quinn held her hand and kissed her and then left her, but Quinn is not the topic of conversation and Rachel doesn't even know how to say her name without saying the entire story in one long run on sentence, and the words are so close to spilling out of her, dangerously close.

She hangs up.

…

* * *

Kurt knows he is in for a hard time when Santana sits down opposite him and pokes a finger into his chest.

'I leave the city for one week, Hummel, and Rachel and Brody break up. Explain yourself.'

Kurt groans, and takes a gulp of his drink.

'I was hoping to ease you into the concept gently… yes, they broke up. There is no link between your absence and the end of their relationship, can I just say.'

Santana glares darkly at him, and then switches her gaze to the menu chalked on a board over his shoulder.

'Who did the dumping? Seeing as I am completely out of the loop on this, before I speak to Rachel again I need to know what I'm angle I'm approaching this from.'

Kurt follows Santana's lead, and twists around to look at the menu, therefore avoiding having to look at her.

'Rachel, primarily. She didn't want to live with him, and I think the NYADA stress was getting a bit much. She needed some head space.'

When he turns back around Santana is sat back in her chair, with her arms crossed.

'So this has been going on a while, and nobody thought to clue me in? Do I look like some kind of fucking mind reader?'

Kurt crosses his ankles beneath the table, and clears his throat, admonishingly.

'Language, Santana. And, call me a monster, but I didn't find out she was considering leaving him until about a week ago, and my gut instinct was not to tell everyone I knew. She wasn't sure, Santana. I tried to talk her out of it, if I'm honest.'

Santana watches him with narrowed eyes, and then flags down a waiter.

'Hi, a cheese burger and a soda for me, and whatever the boy wonder opposite is having.'

Kurt restrains himself from rolling his eyes, because he should have anticipated that he'd unpopular with everyone on the planet, really.

…

* * *

It takes Santana half a cheese burger before she's thawed suitably towards him.

'I asked Rachel if she wanted to come, tonight. You know, by text, because she was too distraught to even hold a conversation with me. I mean, if you'd have given me some kind of heads up, I would not have called her up for tips on co-habitation, like a moron. Are you sure it was definitely her that wanted out?'

Kurt nods solemnly, and picks at a fry from Santana's plate, remembering endless discussions on the couch about how Rachel wasn't sure, and she wasn't happy, and she wasn't being _fair._

'Yes, definitely her instigation. You would not believe how many times we talked this through.'

Or how many times Quinn's name came up, he adds in his head, and Santana grunts at him around a mouthful of burger.

'How's she doing, though?'

'She's…' Kurt sighs and passes a hand through his hair, anxious to not give anything away, because it is Rachel and Quinn's job to deal with Santana's meltdown over their quasi-romance, not his, '…she's down. She feels that she hasn't been entirely fair to Brody, which is a completely sensible sentiment. And she has been getting a lot of rejections. Which I know, and she knows, is completely par for the course, but… well. Brody always knew the right thing to say, afterward. I'm not so good. And you'd be useless, if you don't mind me saying.'

Santana manages to kick his ankle under the table while nodding in agreement.

'True. I'm not so hot at the soothing words of comfort… has she told Quinn?'

Kurt attempts to poker face. However the question blindsided him slightly, and he probably looks like he's having some kind of facial seizure.

'Why would she do that?'

Santana looks at him as if he's crazy.

'Ummm, duh? Because they're friends? Because Quinn is relentlessly team Rachel? Because Quinn is actually surprisingly good at the _there there _stuff? Because Rachel's idea of a good time is listening to Quinn tell her that she is wonderful?'

Kurt smiles weakly, and takes a drink to buy time. Rachel hasn't told Quinn yet. Probably because she didn't know Quinn would react. But now that Santana knows… oh lord, he can't figure out how to keep a lid on this.

He tries, though.

'Quinn is busy with exams, though, Rachel will not want to distract her…'

Santana snorts at him, and drags out her phone.

'Oh, whatever Kurt. Quinn is the woman for the job, fuck knows we're not. I'll tell her, and you can just sit there and pray that Quinn doesn't tear you limb from limb for your decision to not tell her that Rachel was in distress. Jeez Kurt…'

Beyond snatching Santana's phone from her hand and dunking it in their water, Kurt can't identify any possible way of not being torn limb from limb by someone or other. So he just sighs, and steals another fry from Santana's plate.

…

* * *

It went okay, she thinks.

That is to say, one of the passages was a section she'd already made notes on, and the theme of lost youth is one Quinn can talk about in her sleep, in fact probably does, and so that's another exam ticked off.

She has two more to go, over the next week. And Quinn has already handed in the final sections of her dissertation, two weeks before the deadline, to the general amazement of her housemates. Sometimes an inability to sleep from concern about where her dreams might take her is a significant advantage.

Quinn has nearly finished her major.

That's a scary thought, so Quinn shifts down to just thinking, she's nearly reached her summer break, and smiles to herself. Amazing, how education can fly by when one isn't concentrating.

She's in a good mood. And she's in an even better mood when she gets back to her dorm and discovers that Ashleigh is in a really bad, study induced, mood.

'Quinn Fabray, I have one evening to memorize this entire fucking text book, get the fuck out of my room and stop singing for fuck's sake!'

Quinn only really sings when she is sure it is going to annoy Ashleigh. She considers facetiously bringing Ashleigh endless rounds of toast for the next four hours, but instead heads into her room, determined to actually read a book for fun, this time.

Her phone is just visible from beneath the corner of her pillow. Quinn reaches for it on impulse.

_Hey, Q. I know you are crazy busy educating yourself, and thus have no time for any of your friends, but Rachel broke up with Brody. So that's a mess. And she's still auditioning but getting nothing, and I think she could do with someone who is good with words to talk to her, maybe? From someone who isn't too hilarious to not make jokes, so that rules out me, and Kurt is being useless man, so. Anyway; be nice to Rachel please. So I don't have to._

Quinn isn't sure whether she absorbs anything but the _Rachel broke up with Brody, _the first time around, and reapplies herself to the second and third reading.

_Rachel broke up with Brody._

Quinn doesn't want a relationship. She doesn't know what she is doing next year, or where she'll be, or whether she can even do a relationship that doesn't end in disaster or heartbreak or vows to never speak to the offending party ever again… but. But.

Rachel broke up with Brody.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello, thank you for continuing along with me. Reviews are lovely to receive- thank you :)**

* * *

Her phone alarm jabbers for a least half a minute before Rachel can shut it off, because she's not used to sleeping on this side of the bed and in her early morning confusion she knocked it onto the floor.

Her limbs don't feel like they belong to her, which is usually a sign that she slept badly. Rachel sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, running the soles of her feet over coarse carpet, trying to ease them into the concept that yes, it was time for another day.

Rachel has a planner full of scraps of paper, and is on an alert feed for every audition that comes up from the main companies. She is also on the mailing list from NYADA for every imaginable interview for anything linked to drama at all. Rachel's morning routine involves scanning through her inbox, before checking her planner, trying to remember what she has to get excited about for today's audition.

She's luckier than most, she reminds herself firmly. Rachel has the backing of her NYADA tutors, which not everyone gets, and it opens most doors for her. Beyond that, she's on her own.

It is frustrating, how she is never quite right, never quite what they are looking for. Her tutor seems to think that the perfect role will emerge soon, to suit Rachel's 'very unique' qualities. Rachel would settle for a good dose of normal, sometimes.

Today's audition is a long shot, anyway. Rachel thinks one of the panel has taken an irrational dislike to her, just because in a previous audition, she had suggested that the role would be far more effective if interpreted in a different way. From the wall of disapproval radiating from the darkness, Rachel had sensed that he had disagreed.

She doesn't want to do today. To do any of today. She doesn't want to go to her seminar, she doesn't want to have to get in the shower. Rachel wants to stay in bed and sleep. Just a solid twenty four hours to sleep and she's sure she'll feel human again.

With a groan, Rachel rises and tries to stretch it out.

* * *

'Quinn?'

'Hi Brit.'

Brittany blinks at the ceiling for a moment, and then sits up abruptly in her bed.

'What's the matter, is something up, what's the deal?'

Quinn laughs after a moment, and Brittany rubs at her eyes, trying to check the time on her phone. Maybe she's still asleep. Quinn laughs?

'Nothing is up, Brit… I just wanted to say hi.'

Brittany hasn't spoken to Quinn since the phone call at Wiggle club. Brittany doesn't know why Quinn has suddenly decided to break radio silence at… seven thirty in the morning. She shrugs, happy regardless.

'Oh, okay. Sure, well, mission accomplished. Good job!'

Quinn snorts at her, and then there's a pause, while Quinn says nothing, and Brittany waits. After a moment Quinn clears her throat.

'So. Umm. Rachel and Brody broke up.'

Oh! Brittany crosses her legs, and then rearranges her sheets, trying to buy time.

'Really… huh. I... well, what are you going to do now?'

It is the wrong thing to say, because Quinn takes too long in answering.

'…Nothing. I was just checking that you knew.'

Jeez, Brittany doesn't need to be woken up with a cryptic phone call. She stretches, and then stands, wandering over to her mirror to check her reflection.

'Mmm, call Rachel maybe, if you want to. And like, early morning calls are cute, but I was kind of wishing you were Santana, when my phone went off, which means you were probably wishing I was Rachel, which is confusing. So don't call me, my Rachel impression is really bad. I never could do that circular breathing thing, okay?'

Quinn is saying something to her, but Brittany puts her phone down on the table, and wanders off to the shower.

* * *

The man opposite her on the subway is entirely asleep, his head lolling all over the place. Rachel wishes she could do that, switch off completely. She's never been able to sleep on public transportation, some part of her subconscious convinced that constant vigilance is the only barrier holding the attackers back.

She shifts on her seat, and clutches a little tighter to her bag. Santana has been messaging her frequently, over the last few days. Rachel doesn't really know what to say to her, even though Santana is just enquiring how she is, and whether she wants to meet up. Rachel has visions of Santana trying say soothing things over coffee.

Rachel cannot think of Santana without thinking of Quinn. Although, to be fair, Rachel cannot think of most things without thinking of Quinn.

Tomorrow, she tells herself. Tomorrow she will tell Quinn she has left Brody, and then see what happens.

Rachel's nervous that if she tells Quinn, the response will be 'so?'

How long can a person possibly stay angry for? Not this long, Rachel decides. Now Quinn is not speaking to her just because she doesn't want to. Maybe things will never be as they were. Or maybe they'll revert back to the McKinley days of Rachel endlessly chasing Quinn around, trying to force a friendship, and Quinn permanently polite and allusively aloof.

Her stop is next. Rachel frowns, and tries to change mental topic, because she's done this theme to death over the last week.

The only good part of travelling on the subway is the sensation of emerging into daylight at the other end. It is rush hour, and Rachel hasn't really got the time or the space to stand and appreciate the feeling of sunlight on her face, but does so anyway, just for a moment.

Her phone chimes in her pocket, and Rachel rolls her eyes at Santana's persistence, but smiles despite herself. Santana is probably going to strain something soon with her extended efforts to check that Rachel is okay. Rachel has been enjoying the oddness of Santana's attempts at supportive friend texts. She reaches for her phone after a moment's appreciation of the sky, hidden between buildings.

It's Quinn. Rachel almost drops her phone. It is only after a brief juggle with her hands that she manages to keep it from falling into the gutter.

_Hi, so I hear people still aren't seeing how talented you are. It took me a while to see that too- they'll get there._

It is... The oddest, most cryptic... Rachel has to read it a few times before she realizes that this is Quinn saying she'll get a role soon enough. The words are irrelevant though, because what this is actually saying is that Rachel can talk to Quinn again.

Rachel needs to sit somewhere, and figure out what to send back. Because she can barely multi-task when it comes to even the most mundane of tasks, and this feels momentously important.

She's already running late.

The crucial thing here, Rachel decides, is to play it cool. That's what all the experts suggest, isn't it? Play it cool, try not to immediately come off as a crazy person.

* * *

Quinn doesn't choose to smile when Rachel messages her back, it just happens.

_Some of these people are a lot less perceptive than you, unfortunately, they might never get there! Thank you, though. (And hi!)_

She's still in her pyjamas, having awarded herself another late start. Quinn hasn't in fact, moved from her bed this morning. Her mom would be horrified, and it is a good thought, makes her grin to herself as she rearranges onto her side.

_You're welcome (hi. How have you been doing?)_

Quinn sort of wants to say so, you and Brody huh? That means... What exactly? Quinn doesn't even know what she wants to say.

_(I'm okay. It has been a very peculiar few weeks. How are the exams?)_

This is safe, this is safe easy communication and it really shouldn't be making Quinn's heart sing like this.

_(Over. I'm officially unemployed)_

_(Haha, aww, yay! I'm sure if you'll walk into any job you wanted. Well done:))_

_(We'll see. Good luck with the auditions, try to remember that you are amazing)_

Quinn presses send, aware of the double meaning but deciding that she doesn't care that much.

* * *

It is barely anything. Hardly anything at all. Certainly nothing that deserves a fanfare and fireworks and the feeling of her heart turning over in her chest.

Rachel might have just melted into a puddle.

* * *

Well, this feels familiar.

Brody came to collect his box a couple of days ago. Kurt found he couldn't even really look him in the eye, which is insane because it wasn't Kurt who slept with Quinn, but there it is. Brody had pulled him into a hug after a moment, and had mumbled something into his ear about meeting up when everything had died down. Kurt had restrained himself from clutching at Brody's shirt, but that meet up will be happening no matter what.

Kurt will miss Brody.

He is _trying_ to not hold it against Rachel.

And Rachel… well, Rachel's still not employed, and is still technically supposed to be buried under auditions and rehearsals and _pressure_, but you wouldn't know that from the way manner in which Rachel has spent the last few days practically waltzing around their apartment, phone clutched tightly in hand.

Quinn has opened lines of communication again. Quinn is sending friendly texts again.

And Kurt is back to feeling incredibly uncomfortable about this, because what kind of relationship is built on a foundation of one half dictating to the other half _when_ communication is allowed?

He's fractious, after a long day, which is why he ends up asking her about it, trying to cross the gulf of sanity that is their couch gently.

'So… Quinn is talking to you again, then? That's good.'

God help him if he can't prevent it from sounding sarcastic. Rachel rolls her eyes towards him, and then just shrugs.

'Let's not talk about this, huh? I know you don't trust her. And she's not going to be your friend like Brody was.'

Kurt closes his eyes momentarily, and then refocuses on the television screen.

'Is. Brody is my friend. He's not dead.'

Rachel folds her arms, and then stands, with arms still folded in the oddest piece of body language that Kurt has seen in a long time.

'Yes, you know what I mean. I'm going to study.'

Rachel doesn't have any exams. There is nothing for her to study for, but Kurt lets her shut herself in her room anyway.

Kurt doesn't understand why he isn't allowed to be sad about Brody not being here anymore. Surely he's allowed to have emotions too?

Worse than his apparent new role as bad guy in Rachel's life, is the fact that Santana thinks he is being an ass for no reason. Because Santana thinks that Rachel came to some rational, mature, level headed decision over Brody with no external factors. Only Kurt knows about Quinn, and he'll just pop with the knowledge, one day, he's sure.

* * *

'Hey Rachel, how you doing?'

Santana understands that breaking up with someone is pretty hard. And, well, even though her love life has never been normal, because being with Brittany means that all real life conversations get bypassed, somehow, Santana understands that Rachel must be hurting, despite doing the breaking up.

Her and Brittany still technically are not together. Santana decides she needs to fix that, soon.

'Hey, just… I don't know, I wanted to talk to someone.'

Santana crunches on a carrot stick, before wrinkling her nose and eyeing the dips left out with trepidation. One of her room mates is on a health kick. God knows what is in those.

'Quinn didn't pick up, huh? I'm going to need more prep time than this Berry… can you wait while I call Brit and ask her how to say nice things?'

It's a joke, obviously, but the way Rachel sighs heavily makes Santana wince at herself, because not everything needs to be a joke. Santana apologizes, instinctively.

'Sorry. I'm, I don't know what I'm eating, and the confusion is making me a little distracted. You can talk to me; hello.'

Rachel's voice is hesitant when she answers, and Santana knows this is going to be another one of those conversations in which Brody is not mentioned, and everything else doesn't seem to be worth talking about.

'Hi. I didn't call Quinn first, for the record; I like speaking to you too, moron.'

Santana rolls her neck, because trying to get Rachel to talk sense about Quinn these days is whole other mystery. From the intel she's gathered over the past few of days from some very dubious sources (Brittany tried to claim that these things came to her in a _dream_, which, well, she loves her, but Brittany's lying skills are fucking dreadful) some kind of argument occurred, at a point in time that Santana cannot latch on to, and the last few weeks have been a no go zone. Kurt thinks they fell out over Brody. Santana had panicked that Quinn was into Brody, and nearly got her head removed via text message for suggesting it to Quinn.

Basically, they argued, and then things were fixed, a couple of days ago, from what she can gather. But they followed that arc all the time in high school; no biggie, right?

'Yeah, something about attaching the word moron to the end of the compliment doesn't quite do it for me. Anyway, midget, how are you? Have you won a Tony yet?'

Sure, so it is another area that technically isn't supposed to be discussed, but the entirely of Rachel's life would be off limits if Santana tried to only discuss the things that are going well. People are supposed to struggle, it is just a bit fucking shitty when you are right in the middle of it.

Rachel snorts at her, and grunts in a manner neither ladylike nor melodic.

'No. God, I should not have called you. I don't actually want any conversation with you. I just want to whack you around the head with a cushion and get drunk while you throw mildly anti-Semitic insults my way, like the horrendous person that you are.'

Santana squints at her phone for a second, and then grins.

'Rachel Beethoven Berry, are you asking to spend time with me? Are you suggesting you secretly enjoy all the abuse that you complain about so endlessly?'

'Santana, I'd have imagined that my tolerance of you for all these years would have been more than enough of an indication that there are certain aspects of our dynamic that I find pleasurable, particularly when I am looking to distract myself from myself.'

'You'll forgive me if I shorthand all that into a _yes?'_

Rachel hangs up on her, at that point. Santana laughs to herself, and risks another carrot stick, because she knows how this works. Two minutes later her phone chirps, and she swipes at it to read.

_I'm free this weekend if you've got it in you to be normal around me; Kurt is making me feel like a mass murderer._

Santana rolls her eyes, because what is with that boy?

_Come around to my place Saturday night; we'll drink wine and talk about how all men are retards, yes?_

* * *

Quinn's lease is up soon. She's got three weeks, and then she has to decide where she is going, what she is actually doing with herself.

It is an overwhelming, ridiculous notion. Three weeks to decide the next step.

Luckily, this morning marks the end of Ashleigh's finals. So they spend much of it blasting out eighties hits and dancing around the kitchen in pyjamas.

Fuck responsibility. Fuck it.

Ashleigh thinks that she is channeling Iggy Pop, and thrusts her way around the room continuously, during a song which is not by Iggy Pop, and the entire performance has Quinn snorting helplessly while leaning on a counter weakly.

'Quinn! Don't just stand there…move your ass. Show me your moves!'

Shit, it has been so long since she's happily made herself look like an idiot. Quinn doesn't know if she's even done this _ever_ while sober, and despite them both being high on life there is nothing else in their systems right now, unless someone has spiked Ashleigh's peanut butter.

At one point another room mate walks in, ignores them, grabs a smoothie out of the fridge, and wanders out with barely a second glance.

Ashleigh decides at this point that the only reason that she cannot sing like Debbie Harry is that previous attempts have not been committed to fully, and Quinn's flashing back to McKinley and dodgeball in the best sort of way, despite the fact that she inexplicably seemed to be on _Finn's_ team. What was up with that, seriously?

She's supposed to be going to see her tutor in an hour. She is supposed to be _deciding, _in an hour.

A song comes on to shuffle that Quinn has a memorized whole routine for, a New Directions special, and Ashleigh is just falling over herself laughing at the entire thing, as Quinn bobs and spins and twirls her way around the kitchen to Meatloaf.

'How did you guys even sing with all of that going on?'

Quinn rolls her eyes at Ashleigh, before picking her up to spin her, in the way that someone would have done to her (Mike, maybe?)

'I wasn't really there for my singing. It was Rach who had to dance and sing, ask her.'

Ashleigh smirks at her for a moment, before calling over the music 'Rach, is it now? Are we allowed to say her name again?'

Quinn flips her off, before shrugging.

'Whatever you want to think Ash. Still not a topic for conversation.'

The song ends in a rather abrupt fashion, leaving both Quinn and Ashleigh teetering mid-move. Ashleigh drops from her toes first, checks her phone.

'Battery has died, crappy thing. Haven't you got to be somewhere anyway? I mean, not that that sentiment isn't the story of your entire life, but… don't you have somewhere specific to be, asides from my more general thoughts on your love life?'

Quinn grunts at her, rather than actually figuring what words to say in response to that, and heads for the shower with a wave.

* * *

Besides, she's always going to be somewhere. That isn't in doubt. It isn't as though Quinn could stop existing, just not be anywhere.

And so the concept of there being somewhere she _should_ be… well, that's all just a matter of opinion, and who you listen to. People talk such nonsense, these days.

There's a message on her phone.

_Do you ever think that people who do not wait for people to get off the subway before barging their way on should be shot? Because I do._

It is such a silly thing, that a message containing _nothing_ makes her good morning better.

_Well, maybe if you weren't so tiny people could actually see you…_

_I'll have you know that the top I am wearing is not a subtle shade, they couldn't possibly have missed me._

_Just sing next time Rachel, they'll have no choice but to notice you. Unavoidable, I'd say._

_Shut up. X_

This is ridiculous. This entire thing is ridiculous.

Maybe she will take Santana up on that offer.

* * *

'Kurt? Let me in.'

Squinting at the door, Kurt shuffles over to it, perplexed.

'Santana, what are you doing here?'

Santana strolls in, all decked out in her barista uniform, and heads straight to their fridge, tugging it open to inspect the contents.

'I was hungry, and in the area. Rachel here?'

Kurt presses a hand to his forehead, and attempts not to reel, but it has been a tough enough week without Lady Lopez marching into his territory without so much as a how d'you do.

'No, auditions… and we aren't a soup kitchen, Santana. It is normal to ask before you ransack someone's fridge.'

Santana shrugs, her mouth already around a bite of apple.

'It's an apple Kurt, I'm not making off with your family silver. Anyway, Rachel is staying at my place Saturday. Quinn's coming too, or she will, she hasn't said yes yet. Girls night, kind of a healing time for Rachel. You want to come? Do some bonding with Berry, as I'm getting the impression you are being a little shit at the moment.'

Oh, that's why Santana's here. To tell him off.

'I am not being a… we're fine. Just super stressed and busy. Also…I doubt you are getting the full picture from Rachel, so, you know, less of the attitude please.'

Santana glares at him, before eating more of _his _apple.

'Just, be nice, Kurt. She's emotionally traumatized.'

Words fail Kurt for a moment, and he decides that withdrawing gracefully is probably the only solution.

'I'm a bit touch and go myself…but we are fine. I'm being very normal with her. Very. But I won't be accepting your generous offer. Hot date.'

Santana snorts at him after a moment, and grins.

'Liar.'

Kurt shrugs, and Santana approaches, pokes at his side.

'You and Brody will stay friends, I'm sure. Just don't take it out on Rachel, okay?'

Kurt rolls his eyes after a second, and nods at her.

'If your sixteen year old self could see you now…'

Santana pretty much just throws her hair into Kurt's face, leaving him adrift in synthetic watermelon.

'She'd be congratulating me on my amazing taste in work outfits. Later, Kurt. Thanks for the apple, promise to repay you.'

It's sarcastic, but the tiny squeeze of his hand with hers isn't, so Kurt will have to take what he can get.

* * *

Honest to god, she has no idea what is wrong with everyone these days. It's like they've forgotten how to use words.

'Quinn! Quinn? Stop going quiet, it is freaking me out. Are you coming? This is what you called to tell me, yes?'

Quinn just breathes at her for a moment, and honestly, you'd think that Santana was interrupting some kind of meditative retreat for Quinn, as opposed to just picking up her phone.

'I… probably, Santana. I'm probably coming, I'm just not definite. I have lists and lists of things to do, you should see my pinboard…'

Santana groans at her, frustrated.

'You're fucking with me, right? You've finished everything. I left you alone all through your exams and now you still aren't coming because you have _chores?_ Just, be definite, Quinn.'

'Stop barking at me Santana, it is perfectly reasonable to want to leave my travel plans flexible. Can I not just let you know on the day?'

Seriously, everyone in her life right now is weird, apart from Brittany who is on the other side of the country, and Santana wonders if she's getting a migraine. She doesn't suffer from them normally, but this might be the start.

'How the fuck am I supposed to cater for a fucking maybe, Quinn? Have some goddamned decorum.'

Quinn snorts after a moment.

'You'll make someone a wonderful wife some day, Santana. Look, let me just, check on a few things, and I'll tell you tonight, okay? A definite yes or no to your warm and loving hospitality.'

Santana stretches, and then stands, moving through into the kitchen for a glass of water.

'Okay. Fine. But if you don't then my hospitality will hospitalize you, okay Fabray?'

Quinn laughs, in a way that only someone eighty miles away would do.

'Good lord, it's like being savaged by a puppy… sure thing. Definitely call you tonight, lest you turn into the Hulk.'

Santana bites out _shut up_ automatically, but Quinn's already put the phone down.

Shit, why is it only Santana who is even making an attempt to be a good friend to Rachel at the moment? She doesn't quite throw her phone onto the floor in disgust, but it's a close thing.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thanks for sticking with me during the five chapter drought of Rachel and Quinn interaction... in this one I actually let them see each others faces! You are all very welcome ;)**

* * *

Quinn leans back in her chair, and traces trembling fingers over her brow.

She should really… check, somehow. With Rachel.

That would require her to compose hundreds of text messages, or type out an email which could be misinterpreted, or… she could call her.

Quinn could just call her. To check. That meeting up at Santana's would be a good idea. Santana could act as an unwitting chaperone, because Quinn isn't so helpless that she'd kiss Rachel in front of Santana. She does have some kind of self-restraint.

Closing her eyes, Quinn presses hard at her temples, because what kind of person even has this thought process? How is any of this sensible?

Rachel is single, now. Quinn is single, always. They're, well, not friends, but they're friendly again. The messages are friendly. The worst that could happen now is that Santana could figure out that they accidentally fucked in her bed.

Quinn snorts momentarily at the concept of Santana's face upon that revelation, and stands, stretching her limbs out.

It is only seven thirty. There is no way she could even convince herself that it is too late to call Rachel.

It isn't that she is looking for excuses, but... But. Text messages can be re-read before they are sent. Talking to Rachel is a whole different ball game, one that Quinn has never been very good at.

The last time Quinn had heard Rachel's voice they'd been arguing, in Santana's room.

Quinn just wants to fast-forward to the point when they've forgiven each other, and processed, and moved on, and maybe gone on a couple of dates, and Quinn has magically learned how to be in a healthy, functioning relationship, and there isn't all this doubt everywhere.

Recognizing that this mental avenue is only leading to a dead end, Quinn picks up her phone before she can talk herself out of it.

'Quinn?'

Quinn tries not to bite through her lip, and attempts some social niceties.

'Hi Rachel… how are you?'

Rachel's voice sounds slightly manic, when she answers, and Quinn momentarily smiles in sympathy, because if Rachel is feeling anything like Quinn is, well at least Quinn had time to mentally brace herself.

'Well! I'm very well… still looking like being an 'undiscovered talent', when I finish at NYADA next month, so that is a concern, obviously, but I'm very well. And Kurt is fine, um, being a bit fractious with me at the moment, for understandable reasons, but that does create a slight atmosphere of negativity, which, well, doesn't help in my quest for stardom, and so, um, oh my gosh, what am I even saying right now… hi. I'm fine. How are you?'

Quinn just ends up grinning the phone, she can't help it.

'Hi crazy. I'm fine too.'

'Good! Good… that is excellent news, and, uh, belated congratulations for completing all your exams.'

With a slightly embarrassed moment of realization, Quinn notices that at some point in this fledgling conversation, she has started _pacing_ up and down her room, from her door to the window and back. Making an effort, she stills next to the window, gazing out into the dusk.

'Thanks, it'll be a while before I know how they went, but, you know, trying to think positive about next year.'

Rachel still sounds as if she is falling over herself trying to get words out in a sensible order, and Quinn fights an impulse to shush her soothingly.

'Yes, positive thinking is vital in times like this… in fact I have a play list that I designed about a year ago filled with motivational songs, not necessarily all power ballads, I know what you are thinking, so I could send that to you if you were, umm, struggling to maintain a positive mental attitude. I'll edit it first, because many of them are Disney songs, and I'm not sure how I feel about you knowing just how much of a dork I am, although I just told you, so. So. Uh, let me know.'

Quinn reaches for her curtain fabric, just for something to touch, and rubs at it absently.

'Um, thanks. I do like Disney too, you know. I'm not sure I'd like anyone who didn't like Disney; they'd have to be a bit soulless, no?'

Rachel breathes an enormous sigh of relief, as though she's just been let off a big misdemeanor, and just murmurs _exactly _down the phone, prompting another smile from Quinn, and a lull in the conversation.

Quinn wonders what Rachel is doing. Whether she is standing or sitting. What she's wearing. Whether she's just gotten in or is just going out. Quinn wonders.

'So, um, Rachel, I… you know this thing that Santana wants to happen tomorrow?'

Rachel sounds as though it takes a moment for her to identify what Quinn is referring to.

'The… Santana had asked me to stay at her place tomorrow? Some kind of 'old school slumber party', which is a bit silly because we certainly didn't have any of those at school.'

'Yeah, that. She wants me to come too? And, uh. I was wondering if you would be okay with that?'

Quinn reverts back to pacing, as she waits for Rachel to reply.

'Why… why wouldn't I be?'

'Well, I don't know, you might have wanted some time with just Santana?'

'And not see you?' Rachel swallows the rest of whatever else was about to come out of her mouth, and pauses, just to breathe for a moment, before speaking again. 'No, it would be good to see you, of course you have to come.'

Quinn knows that she is grinning like an idiot now.

'Yeah? I mean, it'd be good to see Santana, I haven't seen her for a while. And you, of course. I just… wanted to check that, I don't know, you wouldn't think it would be awkward… in light of recent events.'

_In light of recent events? _What is she, a news anchor? Rachel ignores Quinn's new inability to talk like a human being, and responds with a light laugh.

'Oh, um, I'm sure we can be normal. You know. In front of Santana. I've…missed you. It would be nice to see you again. Your face.'

Quinn's face is blushing, she can feel it. Rolling her eyes, and thankful for more small mercies, Quinn tries to steer the conversation towards a conclusion that wouldn't give her any opportunities to embarrass herself.

'Uh, yeah, I've… been feeling the same. So, I'm going to call Santana back now, and confirm. I'm travelling midday, the fares are cheaper…but I'll see you tomorrow night?'

'That would be… yes! Good. Excellent. I'm, I'll be looking forward to it all day.'

Quinn feels her heart clench in her chest, and wonders whether a heart attack has ever felt good before.

'Me too. Bye, Rach.'

'Bye.'

Quinn drops the phone on her bed, and engages in a small, completely irrational victory dance, before flopping down next to the phone.

She should call Santana.

_It was good to hear your voice again x_

It is typed out and sent without even a twinge of self doubt, and Quinn doesn't even care at how it reads, because she wants Rachel to know how she's feeling.

_Yours too x_

She's grinning at the ceiling again. If Ashleigh caught her she would have some very choice words about Quinn's only successful long term relationship being between her and her ceiling.

Santana. She needs to call Santana.

* * *

Fuck, she has missed Quinn's face. And her own special brand of pretending she doesn't like Santana.

'Sup Q?'

Quinn accepts Santana's offered fist bump with a roll of her eyes.

'Hi. You well?'

Santana snorts at her, and pokes her toe at the backpack Quinn has set by her feet to rest.

'I'd offer to carry that, but we both know which of us has the shoulders of a lineback.'

Quinn looks momentarily outraged, before letting her face smooth over.

'True, you are very frail. Spindly, almost. What are we doing?'

Santana shrugs, and flips a hand over her shoulder vaguely.

'Lunch I thought. If you can stagger to a restaurant with all of your belongings on your back…seriously, how do you manage to travel that light? Please tell me you've at least brought a change of panties?'

Quinn raises an eyebrow at her, and then looks down the street that Santana had just gestured down.

'Always so preoccupied with the state of my panties… lead the way. Lunch sounds good. And I'm just going to borrow all of your belongings, as you know. If you ever came to see me, ever, I'd return the favor…'

* * *

Quinn is probably in the same city as her right now.

In fact… no she is definitely in the same city. Right now. It is after midday by some distance, she must be here, somewhere with Santana, saying Quinn things with her Quinn face. See that cloud there? Quinn could be looking at it too, and the entire concept is incredibly exciting.

Rachel is thankful that she had plans today, for another audition. Otherwise she would no doubt spend the entire day walking around her apartment in circles, trying on every item in her wardrobe, talking about Quinn and the possible meanings of her call last night.

This audition is going to be good, she can just feel it. Especially as the part calls for high energy levels and an ability to light up the room, as right now Rachel feels like she could set a room on fire, not just light it up. In a non-pyromaniac way.

Rachel feels like she could run up a wall, she's that excited.

The insane amount of coffee that she has consumed this morning is likely to be a factor in this, but the guy serving had a good listening face, and so she spent about three hours sitting at the corner of his otherwise empty serving station, and had listed pretty much every interaction she had ever had with Quinn ever. She's certain it helped brighten up his day, he gave her a free muffin on her way out, which on reflection may have been a somewhat inappropriate innuendo, but no matter! A free muffin is a free muffin.

Rachel has auditioned on this particular stage….eight times now. Which is good, because it means she doesn't have to worry about asking for directions or getting lost.

Ninth time's a charm, surely.

* * *

'You okay Q? You seem a little… twitchy.'

Quinn swallows her mouthful of salad, and nods vaguely at her.

'Yes? I'm fine… just a little spaced from the journey I guess. And you did summon me pretty abruptly.'

Santana takes a long drink of Coke while just looking at Quinn, who seems to get increasingly uncomfortable under her stare.

'What? Do I have something on me?'

'No, but… do you remember when you and I helped Rachel get over Finn by recounting some of BabyBlunder's finest moments of stupidity? We have to do something like that again.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at her, across the booth.

'Yeah, no we don't, because Rachel dumped Brody of her own volition, and also, Brody wasn't the disaster that Hudson was. What would we even say? "Sometimes Brody's friendly and positive attitude could be grating if the recipient is hungover; what a moron?" You're barking up the wrong tree Santana. You're in the wrong forest.'

Whoa, okay, Quinn is not sunshine and light today. Santana holds up her hands in retreat.

'Can you not be so weird, please? Also, that is the second time you've compared me to a dog in the past twenty four hours; consider yourself lucky that I like you, although fuck knows why.'

Quinn rolls her shoulders, and looks like she makes a real effort to simmer down.

'Sorry. Just… didn't sleep great. Sorry.'

Santana clucks at her after a moment, and then prods at her feet under the table with her own.

'Fine. It's fine. I know the mention of Hudson brings back unwelcome flashbacks of the times when you willingly kissed him.'

Quinn bites the inside of her cheek, fighting off a smile.

'Says the girl who actually slept with him?'

Santana flaps a hand dismissively, laughing.

'No, but, half an hour of stupidity can be excused. You have two years of stupidity to explain.'

Quinn doesn't say anything, just forks another mouthful of salad and places it in her mouth, one eyebrow raised. Santana snorts after a second, and throws a fry at her.

'Shut up.'

Quinn's snort of amusement turns into a cough halfway through, and she splutters for a moment before taking a drink, red in the face. It is enough to remind Santana that Quinn is human, and not perfect, and she can feel herself grinning unwillingly, and she picks up the conversation when Quinn has settled herself.

'So yeah, _I know_ that we don't need to go a bitch about Brody to Rachel for an evening, she's already pressed the self-destruct button on that one. But we do need to run some kind of intervention before Rachel throws herself at another man on the rebound, you know what she is like. She does not need that kind of distraction right now; single is probably better for her career ambitions right now.'

Quinn's looking oddly blank faced at her again.

'Uh, wait, what? What makes you think… has she mentioned anyone?'

Santana shrugs, reaching for the ketchup and squirting more than she needs.

'No, but she's playing her cards close to her chest these days, the Brody break up blindsided us all, huh? 'Sides, look at her track record. She rebounds hard. What was it; Finn to Puck, inexplicably, then a bizarre detour with Jesse the human labradoodle, back to Finn, then about a week of being single before Brody moved into her bed… I mean, can you ever remember Rachel not dementedly chasing someone or being in an ill-fitting relationship? No wonder we were all so delighted with Brody, at least the boy didn't have any psychotic tendencies, because Rachel's got more than enough crazy for one relationship.'

Quinn's fork is hovering in the air, as though someone's found her pause button. Santana waits for it all to sink it (honestly, is she the only person who thinks about these things?) and then adds further clarification.

'Basically, we need to make sure that Rachel doesn't pull her usual trick of processing things with her vagina, rather than her brain.'

Quinn manages to fumble all of her cutlery simultaneously, before knocking her knife onto the seat next to her. Reaching for it, Quinn mumbles a couple of swear words, and then glares at Santana.

'Are you kidding me right now? I'm not… I can't handle that kind of conversation with Rachel.'

* * *

'Very good Miss Berry. We've all seen you perform before, and… well, this role would seem to be a good fit for you. We have another few girls auditioning on Monday, but we'd certainly like to invite you to the next stage of auditions, which are pencilled in for Friday, if you are available?'

Rachel blinks against the stage lights, trying to see into the darkness, but only silhouettes are presenting themselves. These silhouettes feel friendly, however, and Rachel smiles in their direction.

'That would… I'd be delighted, thank you so much. I think this role certainly has a great deal to be excited about.'

A silhouette waves a hand over towards stage left, and continues.

'If you speak to Michael the stage manager, he'll give you a number which you can contact me on if Friday becomes a problem… keep an eye on your inbox, Rachel. Thank you for coming today.'

Rachel restrains from waltzing out stage left, and in the excitement forgets to notice the familiar name.

Michael the stage manager is… Michael. Brody's friend Michael. Rachel nearly trips over herself trying to figure out the correct way to approach him in a socially acceptable manner.

Michael looks wordlessly at her for a moment, before handing her a slip of card with a raised eyebrow.

'You sounded incredible Rachel. Well done.'

Rachel almost, _almost _curtsies, but thankfully just removes the card from his fingers with a small smile.

'Thank you, that's kind of you to say. Uh, if you, that is, if you speak to Brody, could you tell him…'

Michael shakes his head swiftly, to cut off whatever horrendous end to that sentence her mouth was about to produce.

'Nah, Rachel, just… give him a bit of time, and then tell him yourself.'

Rachel smiles widely, grateful that the dim lighting means that her suddenly watery eyes are surely obscured.

* * *

Quinn life would be a great deal easier if Santana would stop saying the word vagina.

'But, I mean, I'm not judging her, I'm exactly the same; processing trauma with my vagina. I can't tell you how many people I've slept with because I'd wanted to sleep with Brittany, or we were on a break, or I was pretending to not be into vagina. Which is probably why you hadn't recognised Rachel's vagina weakness; you don't do anything with your vagina at all, as far as I can tell, and so the concept is alien to you. What?'

'Santana,' Quinn manages to grit out, through clenched teeth, 'can you stop talking about everyone's… _area_, like that? I'm trying to eat.'

Santana looks away, and purses her lips.

'So many jokes, so little time… no but, it is true. About Rachel and her, what did you just say, _area?_ Oh jeez, what century are you in? At least vagina is the official biological term. I'm practically being medical in my diagnosis. I could have said pussy. Or…'

Quinn claps her hands to her ears, in an attempt to never hear anything coming out of Santana's mouth ever again.

'Please stop, for god's sake. Or I'm back on the train.'

Santana rolls her eyes, and looks delighted with Quinn's discomfort.

'Okay, don't have an aneurism… can you at least concede that Rachel likes to, what, have sex? Rather than be single? Can you deal with that concept without bailing? And so, in the spirit of friendship, we need to go an convince her that maybe being single for a stretch won't be such a bad idea, despite any stirrings she may feel in her lady area… maybe some kind of lecture of the value and beneficial attributes of masturbation, what do you think? Man, do you think Rachel even masturbates? I bet she pictures herself on stage while she does it. I bet she _sings._'

Quinn shuts her eyes, but somehow that just makes the whole thing worse.

'Santana, I'm serious. If you want to deliver a lecture on…_that_, you can do it when I'm not in the room, okay?'

Santana laughs at her after a second, and nudges at her foot again.

'Wow Q, I didn't even know that people could go that shade of pink… okay, vagina talk over. But you agree with the principle, no? That being single might be the best thing for Rachel right now?'

Quinn pushes her plate away unhappily, suddenly not hungry.

'I think… that Rachel's an adult, San. She makes her own choices.'

Santana flaps a hand around.

'Okay, yes, sure, I'm not suggesting we follow her around, taking out any guys that might talk to her, but friendly advice is allowed, no?'

Why is everything so difficult? Quinn nods reluctantly after a second, helpless against events.

'Sure. Friendly advice.'

* * *

The last time she climbed these stairs, Rachel had been climbing them with the intention of kissing Quinn Fabray when she reached the top.

And that _was not_ an option tonight, regardless of how much Quinn looked like Quinn. Or smelt like Quinn. Because, in the quasi-official breakdown of friendships that Rachel carried around in her head, Santana was more Quinn's friend than Rachel's. In the same way that Kurt was more hers than Santana's. Therefore Rachel wasn't allowed to decide when, or even if, Santana got wind of their current, ambiguous, relationship status.

Hell, Rachel doesn't even know what they are, or where she and Quinn are heading right now. She just knows that now she doesn't need to feel so guilty the entire time.

In fact, with the combination of the positive feelings associated with this afternoon's audition, Rachel feels happy. Just plain old, simple, happy. She allows herself to luxuriate in the emotion on the way up, smiling cheerfully at every passing person.

Half way up she recognizes a girl from Santana's apartment coming down, and accepts the greeting wave and half squeeze joyfully, because who'd have known that, at some point in time, Santana's friends would also be hers.

'Yeah, she's in, with Quinn. I think Quinn is cooking something, smells were coming from the kitchen were actually good, so it can't be San. Later.'

Outside the door, Rachel tries to gather herself, and think normal thoughts (none of this is normal. Surely it can't be normal to feel like this, just from being on the other side of the door to someone?) But she doesn't linger too long, because what if someone is watching through the peephole?

'Rachel? Berry! Come in, did you bring me anything?'

Santana is wearing a tshirt and sweats, and looks as she usually does when she has got more than one of her friends in the same place, happy, relaxed, and moments away from snarking out some well meaning insult.

'No, sorry- I was at an audition this afternoon, no time to bake. I brought a bottle of wine, will that do?'

Santana takes the bottle from her hands, and inspects the small print with minute focus for a moment.

'Shit, Rachel, what is this, vintage twenty twelve? Are you kidding me?'

Unbalanced, Rachel stutters an apology.

'I…I'm sorry, you know I know nothing about wine, I just liked the picture on the label, I hope it isn't too bad, I could run down and get a different bottle if you want?'

A hand appears behind Santana's head, and swats at her, causing Santana to yelp.

'Oh sure, Rach, like Santana knows anything about wine beyond that it comes in red and white… she's messing with you.'

Santana rolls her eyes, before flashing a quick grin at Rachel.

'I was just joking, thank you… although I'll have you bitches know that I'm far classier than that. I have _heard _of fucking rosé, you know. Come in, Rachel.'

Santana traipses off towards the kitchen, and Rachel follows her in, hanging her coat on a familiar hook. When she turns to Quinn, to actually look at her, Rachel doesn't even know what her face must be doing.

Quinn is wearing a green sweater, and her hair is slightly longer than Rachel remembers. That's as much of the extraneous details Rachel can take in before just zoning in on her eyes, on the important stuff.

The half crinkles at Quinn's eyes tell her that she's fighting off a smile with difficultly, and the knowledge makes Rachel's own smile widen, before she bites her lips, trying to restrain herself.

'Hi. Nice to see you.'

Quinn's reaches out towards her, and just runs a hand briefly down Rachel's arm, before withdrawing hastily.

'Yes… you too. Uh. Good journey?'

Rachel blinks at her, and grins.

'What, from my apartment? Yes, it was fine, thanks.'

Quinn presses her eyes together hastily, as though berating herself for saying something stupid, and shakes her head slightly.

'I, yes, well, good. I hear traffic can be a nightmare.'

Rachel just shrugs, unable to prevent herself from teasing, gently.

'Lucky thing I don't own a car then.'

Quinn looks as though she's about to explode, but then she just laughs at herself.

'Phew. Good job, Rachel.'

Santana yells out from the kitchen at that point, reminding Rachel that she can't just laugh along and kiss Quinn for being so silly.

'Bitch tits? That's both of you by the way… what do you want to drink? I have all things, and whatever is in this bottle you've gifted me Berry…'

* * *

Quinn made a stirfry. Santana feels like she is about to die of joy.

'Oh my god… seriously, your Ashleigh is a lucky woman, with you cooking for her all the time.'

Quinn fumbles the soy sauce, but recovers magnificently.

'Oh, stirfry isn't hard…just chop everything up small and add a sauce. Though it would have been a lot easier if you had an actual wok. And, uh. Ashleigh isn't my woman, to clarify. I just cook the food she buys.'

Santana waves her fork around in the universal gesture for _entirely not the point, right now_, and glances at Rachel, who is eyeing Quinn as though she too has realized that Quinn is the cooking Messiah, or whoever is the most Jewishly appropriate.

'Whatever… Rachel does yours taste as good without the chicken?'

Rachel drags her eyes away from Quinn, and smiles quietly at Santana.

'Well, mine is exactly the same as yours, just minus the last minute addition of chicken, so I'd guess so. Though without being able to eat yours I have no way of objectively confirming this, but as this is delicious enough to merit similar levels of enthusiasm to yours, I would imagine we have equally pleasing sensations happening in our mouths.'

Really? Santana looks over at Quinn, who appears to be blushing, and translates helpfully.

'Rachel says yum, by the way.'

Quinn and Rachel perform a synchronised eye roll, which is excellent to watch, and then Quinn reaches for her wine glass, draining the final inch with a couple of gulps.

'Well, that's my duty of making sure no one is poisoned tonight completed… over to you Santana. What next in the evening's schedule?'

Santana grins at this indication that Quinn is actually willing to let her hair down a little tonight, and leans across the table to empty the bottle, half between Rachel's glass, to her muffled protest, and Quinn's.

'Well, I figured we should lie around, eat chocolate, doughnuts, or Rachel friendly weird tasting crap, dependent on your preference, and laugh at bad movies, and, you know. Catch up. Get drunk. That stuff. But I think job number one after dinner should be getting changed into pyjamas, otherwise it barely counts as fun.'

Rachel chews her way carefully through another mouthful, regarding Santana with a very serious expression. After a moment, she swallows.

'San… you have checked this time that they aren't porn? Because sure you don't want to develop a reputation for yourself…'

Quinn snorts with laughter even as Santana flips Rachel off, before sitting back in her seat.

'Whatever Berry, get your digs in now, because you're next…'

The way she is grinning probably takes a bit of the sting out of the threat, and Rachel just grins cheekily at her, before smiling into her wine glass, drinking slow.

Santana enjoys this version of Rachel. This looks like the girl who would actually engage in a detailed conversation about sex and masturbation with Santana until Quinn's head would actually explode.

This should be fun.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you for reading and reviewing! I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story. Incidentally, despite me deliberately setting this in the future to try and give it a half decent chance at staying within canon, I think I now have to officially say this counts as an AU story. *shrugs***

* * *

They start sitting on the couch.

It's only just turned nine, but shots seemed the natural progression from two bottles of wine over a stirfry. The film burbles on in the background, but Santana really isn't watching, and she's happy in the knowledge that neither are Quinn and Rachel.

Quinn splutters after the second shot, and gasps at Santana.

'Seriously, what kind of civilized dinner party deteriorates into shots this early?'

Santana shrugs with one shoulder, and rests her glass on the table, next to the bottles.

'Well, you know, sometimes people put liquor in coffee, this is just a… refined version of that.'

Quinn blinks at her, and then frowns, while Rachel perks up at the mention of coffee.

'In what context are you applying the word _refined_, here, because…'

'Coffee! Oh my god, Santana…bring me coffee, please. I brought you wine.'

Santana wrinkles her nose at Rachel for a moment, about to refuse, because that is the sort of thing that would happen when they're all forty and having a bi-annual meet up to moan about how challenging raising kids can be, but Quinn pokes her in the side in encouragement.

'Come on Santana, remember your hosting skills.'

Grumbling, Santana levers herself to her feet, because apparently she's hosting a dinner party now, with the world's two bossiest people.

* * *

Glancing at Rachel, Quinn squeezes gently at the knee closest to her side. The couch isn't really big enough for the three of them, but the bean bag on the floor looks like a hygiene hazard, so they've squashed in. Rachel's got the corner, and after a moment she extends an arm, and brushes a strand of Quinn's hair away from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. Quinn resists the urge to curl herself into Rachel's palm, because she isn't a cat, for goodness' sake.

'Hey, Rachel… Santana thinks she's going to tell you all about how smart it would be for you to stay single for a while. Somehow she's managed to elect herself nominated relationship guru of the three of us.'

Rachel snorts after a moment.

'Has she met herself…? Do you think I should stay single?'

Quinn can't really look anywhere towards Rachel, which is pretty useless because looking at Rachel is all she really wants to do.

'I think you should probably do whatever you want?'

Rachel's fingers trace a pattern down the outside of Quinn's arm, over the cotton of her sleep shirt.

'Right now, I want coffee, I think. And to stay sitting like this. And… why does Santana think I need to stay single?'

Quinn shifts slightly in her seat, which just results in her being even closer to Rachel.

'Uh, she thinks that… and this a conversation in which I was a helpless spectator only, I'd just like to clarify… she thinks that you have a tendency to, um, get physical with new people slightly too quickly. Particularly if you are feeling stressed. Or. Um.'

Rachel is probably frowning, now. Quinn would be frowning, if one of her friends suggested that she sleeps with people at the drop of a hat.

'I… that's… do you think that?'

Quinn shakes her head abruptly, and then looks at Rachel, at how wide her eyes are.

'No, obviously not, but… my position on this has been compromised slightly, huh?'

Rachel bites her lip, and looks away, seemingly concerned with what is happening in the movie, all of a sudden. She asks the question as if it is of no importance to her whatsoever.

'How?'

Quinn wants to kiss her, which would be the singularly most counter-productive act in this conversation that she could produce. So she settles for the second most counter-productive.

'Because whenever I'm close to you I'm thinking about kissing you. And it is…marring my ability to think rationally about anything.'

Rachel looks back at her, and licks her lips, and that would be that if Santana didn't announce her arrival with coffee by kicking the door open with her foot.

'Seriously guys, you'd better be tipping big tonight, the service you are getting…'

* * *

After another round of coffees, and half another bottle of wine that Santana found in someone else's cupboard, Rachel decides to tackle the subject head on.

Because she's not…angry, per say. She's aware that she doesn't enjoy being single, that she likes feeling loved and having someone to share her life with. And relationships involve sex. It is hardly something to be ashamed of.

Rachel is surprised that Santana is suddenly advocating celibacy, she doesn't know what to make of that. And she is annoyed that Santana decided to discuss this with Quinn, who is the last person Rachel suddenly wanted to be processing this type of idea about Rachel's love life. Seriously, Santana could have had this discussion with her Dads and Rachel would have been more comfortable.

So she knocks back the last of her wine, and points at Santana.

'San. Santana. What's this I hear about you thinking I sleep with anyone that moves?'

Santana blinks slow at her from her seat in the beanbag, and then rolls her eyes at Quinn.

'Wow, your translation skills are pretty sucky… that wasn't what I said, Rachel. Hell, I wouldn't even judge you if that_ was_ the case.'

Quinn holds her hand up from the other end of the couch, and looks hazily at Rachel. Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe Rachel just sees it hazily. Whatever.

'For the record, that isn't what I reported… Rachel, that isn't what I said. Nobody has said that.'

Quinn looks so worried that Rachel reaches out to stroke at Quinn's foot, momentarily, before remembering where she is. She points again at Santana.

'No, but, you, what was it? You think I have sex with people too quickly? Which is pretty rich, coming from you, can I just say…'

Santana harrumphs at her for a moment, and waves a hand to dismiss the accusation.

'Okay, for clarification… and all of this was said in a loving and supportive manner, don't look at me like that… I think that, because you are super hot and sexy and ridiculously attractive, you've always got someone flirting with you, making themselves available for sex. Which is excellent, and more power to your vagina if you want to sleep with them, feminism is awesome. But, you know, you tend to get, like, a little caught up, in your love life, if drama is happening. And so, what with all the auditions, I thought maybe having a dry patch would…Rachel, will you stop looking at me like that, did you not hear me call you super hot?'

Rachel holds up her hand for a moment, all the time aware of how Quinn is staring at her.

'You think… I should stay single, for the sake of my career? Santana, that is the most… whatever. As long as we are definite on a few things; that my sex life is not available for judgement, and that all people find me super hot.'

Santana snorts after a moment, and rolls towards her, tugs on her foot as if she is trying to pull Rachel down onto the floor.

'Yes, Berry. Super hot, like the sun. Motion passed. But just, think about it, yeah? Kurt has been reporting lots of running around mopping up tears and general drama, these past few weeks, which can't be good for the auditions… how are the auditions, anyway?'

Rachel is going to murder Kurt. She makes a mental note, and then strikes out towards a topic of conversation that doesn't make her sound like a slut or an emotional wreck in front of Quinn.

'I… well, very well! The one today seemed really positive, and I've been invited to the call back already, so, you know, that's hopeful.'

Santana claps both of her hands together twice in celebration, and Quinn raises her glass towards Rachel.

'Good job… fingers crossed for the call back. When is it?'

Rachel smiles, and crosses her legs, so she is sitting Indian style on the couch, about a foot away from Quinn, who looks away from her after a moment, frowning, and then pokes at Santana with her foot. Santana glances at up at her, and then stretches her hands imploringly towards Rachel.

'Um, yes, when is it, because… what Quinn, are you saying I should offer to watch? Because…'

Rachel laughs, and then shakes her head firmly.

'Oh god, no, it is a closed process, people aren't allowed to come watch.'

Quinn claps her hand to her face, and just wags a finger at the both of them.

'No, good lord, you two are so dense sometimes… no I was suggesting that maybe you should apologize for thinking that Rachel sleeps with everyone.'

Santana stares at Quinn as if she's crazy, and Rachel's inclined to agree.

'What? Quinn, we've moved past that, clearly… I called Rachel hot; it is my ultimate apology.'

Quinn glances at Rachel, who shrugs in agreement, and then she just rolls her eyes.

'Okay, well, maybe you should apologize to me for inflicting a discussion about the sex life of one of my friends on me.'

Rachel takes a gulp of her glass, suddenly concerned about how Quinn is reacting to this. Rachel is a bit drunk, which is fine, it means she can relax into the couch and be comfortable about the fact that she's wearing her pyjamas in someone else's house, but it does mean that she isn't very good at reading what is going on in Quinn's head, especially because it would seem as though Quinn has pulled her usual trick of staying two drinks behind everyone else.

Santana pulls herself over to the end of the couch which Quinn is sitting at, and just flops down on top of her, face down.

'Quinn, I am so sorry to have emotionally traumatized you by mentioning the word sex in front of you, it was insensitive of me to forget that you are under the impression it is an act carried out only by perverts and heathens, and so… Rachel! Get over here, come on, Quinn needs platonic love!'

Santana is platonically trying to smother Quinn with her breasts, as Quinn's arms flail slightly, attempting to remove Santana from her body. Rachel snorts, and crawls over, tugging at Santana's shoulders and wrapping her arms around them both until they've settled into a friendly hug.

'Santana, I'm not sure your method of apology was leading anywhere other than to Quinn's untimely death. By boob.'

Santana laughs, and pats Quinn on the head, who is looking a little red in the face.

'What a way to go, huh Q?'

* * *

The only positive to come out of Santana's complete uncalled for assault on her person, was that when Santana moved away to change the dvd, Rachel didn't.

And so, now that they've spent another hour or so eating chocolate and actually watching the movie this time (Pitch Perfect, which is not exactly her favorite kind of movie, but it lets them all bitch about how unrealistic the entire thing is) Quinn is feeling far more relaxed.

So what if Rachel likes sex? It could be worse; she could _not_ like sex, that would be a whole different world of frustration.

And whatever this is hardly counts as a rebound fling. Rachel was still with Brody when she kissed Quinn (or did Quinn kiss her?) It is entirely different.

There is a little ball of unease, sitting tight in her chest. Quinn gets around this by pouring more wine on it.

Rachel is right next to her, while Santana swears at the screen and announces _every time_ that the main girl and the shower girl are in shot together that they are complete lesbians for each other, before moaning about heteronormativity and how it is ruining her life.

Right next to her, so of course, Quinn's hand is on her _own _leg, but, somehow, the outer edge of her hand, from her wrist to her pinky finger, is resting on the side of Rachel's leg.

Sitting next to each other is fine. Santana had pretty much told them to cuddle, because the heating was erratic at best and Santana has no intentions of sharing her onesie.

This is fine.

Quinn tries to regulate her breathing, and becomes very aware of the fact that Rachel is not watching the movie, but watching her hand. When she sighs, Quinn has to close her eyes.

They open again when Quinn feels Rachel arm move, and then there are fingertips at the back of her neck. Quinn coughs hastily, but Santana's sprawled out on the floor like a starfish now, and is paying them no attention. Rachel continues with her running commentary about her serious doubts about the actors ability to maintain such a high energy performance without losing tone, and Quinn is losing her mind.

Fingertips rub, and then push higher into her hair line, and Quinn has to take a really deep breath in order to not push Rachel flat on the couch and climb on top of her.

Santana sits up abruptly in order to locate her drink, and Rachel removes her hand quickly, makes it look as if it was her own hair that she was rearranging, rather than Quinn's heart.

'I'mma, I'm gonna get some potato chips, we should be eating chips, right? Wait here.'

The second Santana is out of the room, Quinn looks at Rachel, and wow, okay, this is not a good position to be in while tipsy.

'Rachel, you have to… please don't keep touching me, I feel like I'm going to break.'

Rachel pouts at her, and then follows the path of her fingers as she traces a shape down the outside of Quinn's face. She murmurs low 'But I wanna touch you…'

Jesus. This was meant to be the time that Quinn checked that her and Rachel were still civil, before building up to possibly maybe perhaps taking it further, a couple of weeks down the line. Quinn feels as though they've managed to skip a few pages, somehow.

'Just… we should talk, huh? Before any of this, okay? Talking. Not in front of Santana.'

Rachel looks at her in a way that almost has Quinn leaning in despite the words that had just left her mouth, but then just nods, and disentangles herself, backing away to the other end of the couch.

'Okay. Sure. Good idea.'

Quinn is about to say more, because she really needs Rachel to understand what is going on here (hell, Quinn really needs to understand what is going on here) but then Santana walks back in, and throws a bag of chips at her head.

'Catch. Whoops. Sorry.'

* * *

Man, she really needs to get a bigger room. Or a bigger place to stay.

When Brittany moves in with her, (and, you know, fuck real life for a moment) they will have an enormous, open plan, apartment, and so Santana can watch Brittany cook while she reads out cryptic crossword clues, which Brittany is surprisingly good at, and maybe they'd have a cat called, she doesn't know, Slimfast, which would rub up against their legs, and stalk off in disgust every time they made out.

Perfect.

Tonight has been pretty good though. Quinn's been a bit weird, but then that's like saying that rain has been a bit wet, so whatever on that front. Rachel has been fun, though, happier than Santana can remember in a while, and maybe Brody had been weighing her down for longer than she had let on. Santana still hasn't fully grasped what prompted the breakup, but asides from pinning Rachel down and tickling it out of her, she doesn't know how to get to the truth.

But, whatever. Rachel's happy. It's all good.

'Santana, I think, maybe, you should tell me again how hot I am. In front of Quinn. When Quinn gets back. You could do it now, but in front of Quinn is better. Having an audience is _always _better.'

And… well, maybe it's time for bed. Rachel never normally propositions her when she's sober.

'Rachel… I am not having sex with you in front of Quinn. It isn't that sort of girls' night. Besides, Quinn would pass out, so…'

Rachel claps both hands to her mouth, and stifles a giggle, anxious for Quinn not to hear her in the kitchen.

'No, I didn't mean…no, that would, not be to plan, I… would you have sex with me if Quinn wasn't around?'

Santana sits up and gives the crazy girl on the couch her best _hello, weirdo_ look, and Rachel snorts at herself after a moment.

'I, oh my gosh, I retract that statement, I… I'm just checking that you think I'm hot. For confidence boosting reasons. I'm not crazy.'

At this point Quinn sticks her head around the door.

'Guys, I'm tired, are we sleeping soon?'

* * *

It isn't Santana's fault. Hell, Quinn doesn't know if she should be blaming Santana or thanking Santana, but seeing as Santana seemingly is entirely oblivious to what has been happening between Rachel and Quinn this entire evening, she deserves neither.

But Santana has insisted that she is the one who sleeps on the air bed.

'No, fuck off Quinn, I'm not a complete barbarian. As host, I get the uncomfy bed. My mom would kill me if I let guests sleep on the floor. You and Berry have my bed, I have the glory of the floor next to it. Plus it means you guys have to be extra nice to me in the morning, and I get to be in a bad mood. Don't look at me like that, I changed the goddamn sheets. _Appreciate, _yeah?'

Quinn doesn't know how to say 'if you make me share a mattress with Berry there's a reasonable chance I'll die of sexual frustration by the morning', so instead insists on using the bathroom first, so at least she can be under the covers by the time Rachel gets in. Who knows; maybe prayers will get answered for once and Quinn will already be asleep.

She pulls the comforter up to her chin after checking that her phone alarm is set for a reasonable time (she has to wake up first, to remove herself from whatever compromising position her unconscious body will have adopted over night), and closes her eyes with determination.

She's so tense that she jumps, when the bathroom door clicks shut again, presumably containing Rachel.

Anxiously, Quinn tries to review why giving in is not an option.

She has never done a relationship. She'll hurt Rachel somehow. Or Rachel will not want her. And then she'll have lost her.

Plus… maybe this is just rebound territory.

Maybe, somehow, it'll be detrimental to Rachel's career.

It feels like a helpless, pathetic excuse, and a fairly large part of her brain yells at her that she is being an idiot, but Quinn clings on tight, firmly ignoring her body's impulses.

Rachel had been pressed into her side so tightly Quinn could smell her shampoo, which had been exactly the scent as the last time Quinn had inhaled lungfuls of Rachel. The fact that the last time occurred when they'd both been reeling from an orgasm had not helped.

Rachel had been touching her deliberately. Not enough to be anything but just good friends on the outside, but inside Quinn had been on fire.

The door nudges open quietly, and Quinn slams her eyes shut again, probably too late.

Asleep. Asleep. She feels the mattress shift, and godammit the term double bed is such a lie, there is no way that half a double equals a single, Quinn feels like she must be right on top of Rachel.

On top of Rachel is not a good phrase to have in her head right now.

Rachel wiggles around a bit, and then murmurs into the ceiling, quiet enough to give Quinn the option to ignore, if she wants.

'Sorry.'

Quinn fights not to react, but can't help it. (Maybe it'll be written on her grave_; she couldn't help it_)

'Why?' She doesn't open her eyes, as her only concession to common sense.

Rachel shifts, and Quinn doesn't know if she rolled on her side towards Quinn, or away from Quinn, and so has to wait until she speaks to find out.

Towards her. Rachel rolled towards her.

'Because the idea of sharing a bed with me clearly made you very uncomfortable. And so I apologize that it is happening. I thought about maybe going home, so then you wouldn't have to, but then… I'm selfish, I guess.'

It's a lot of honesty, all at once, and Quinn bobs along on the swell of it, safe to try a little honesty of her own.

'It's not… I'm not uncomfortable at sharing a bed with you. I just… with Santana on the floor… I guess I'm not going to sleep much. Being so close to you. But not being able to… with Santana in the room too.'

Rachel sighs after a second, and Quinn wobbles for a moment, aware that Rachel's drunk, and Quinn isn't sober, and this is not baby steps, this is a giant on a pogo stick. She rearranges on instinct more than anything, turning to face her and opening her eyes at the last moment.

This is far too close. Quinn can't see anything in the half light, but this is far too close.

Rachel's fingers graze hers, in a meaningful accident, and Quinn reaches for them, holding on to her. Rachel squeezes momentarily.

'Santana is finishing clearing the dishes, she's being unusually tidy.'

It could be classified as making conversation, in fact it may well have been, but it doesn't stop Quinn nudging forward to kiss her.

Rachel gasps slightly, into her mouth, and then kisses back just as Quinn is wrenching her lips away.

'No, sorry, I shouldn't, why do I always end up doing the wrong thing when I'm with you?'

Rachel doesn't even grace that with a response, but chases her mouth, kissing Quinn insistently. Quinn's resolve melts, or evaporates, and she pulls Rachel's hand towards her, which seems to bring the whole of Rachel with it, until she has arms full of warmth and Rachel smells so good that it is driving her crazy.

Rachel's pressing into her, pressing so close some tiny, distracted part of Quinn wonders whether Rachel is trying to occupy the same space as her, as if she can never get close enough. The thought makes Quinn moan quietly, and Rachel surges forward, until Rachel's on top of her, and Quinn can't get enough, is pulling at Rachel's hips, trying to get even closer.

Rachel's hands touch to her neck, and then she locks her elbows to support her weight, kissing Quinn while moving her hips, rocking into Quinn like they've been kissing for hours, like these are the final few moments.

Quinn realizes that her hands have moved of their own volition, that she's cupping both of Rachel's breasts through her pyjama top, where they fit, they just seem to fit. Rachel rolls her hips down into her again, and Quinn rubs fingers over erect nipples, before stretching up to bite at the space of skin between Rachel's shoulder and neck.

Rachel softly grunts her approval, before reaching for one of Quinn's hands, and pushing it down, down towards the warmth that is already radiating from between Rachel's thighs. Quinn moans gently, and wants to protest that they have more time than this, that this is not how it should go, but she wants Rachel so much she feels powerless to protest against even herself.

Rachel is wet through cotton already and _fuck_, Quinn wants to taste her.

'You guys, do you mind if I put the light on in a second; I need to find my phone charger?'

It's not quite a bucket of water, but the sudden removal of pressure and heat is close, and Rachel rips herself away from Quinn just before the room lights up. Quinn blinks against the brightness for a moment, and then rolls back onto her side, cocooning herself in blanket.

Rachel groans a little next to her, and Santana shushes vaguely, before clattering her way around the room for what feels like an hour or so, opening drawers and moving things about and mumbling under her breath.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Quinn lies as ridged as a plank, while Santana seemingly circles her bed a few hundred times, in the way that a cat would do, before _finally _lying down and sighing.

'Berry, get the big light, would you?'

The mattress moves, and the room returns to darkness. Quinn is acutely aware of how close Rachel is, how warm she is, when she returns to her spot. Santana speaks from the darkness.

'Night, ladies.'

Quinn grunts a reply, and then waits.

* * *

She can't sleep.

Her eyes adjust back to the darkness slowly, but when they do there is just enough light filtering up from the street lights, five stories down, for Rachel to make out contrast between shadows and darker shadows.

Rachel cannot remember the last specific time she and Quinn shared a bed to sleep in. They did this frequently in second year, when Quinn stayed at hers more often when she visited Brooklyn, but as Brody became more a permanent fixture in her bed, Quinn ended up staying at Santana's every time.

Rachel decides she doesn't need to read lots into this correlation. That is just how it is.

Quinn feels very far away, somehow. It is just a normal sized double bed, but the gulf feels insurmountable, somehow.

Rachel closes her eyes, and tries to make the room stop spinning.

Let's review this evening's events.

Santana suggests that Rachel jumps into bed with people too quickly.

Quinn reacts weirdly to the conversation.

Rachel pretty much just sits on top of Quinn, and uses any opportunity to touch her.

Quinn asks Rachel to back off.

Quinn looks awkward at the idea of sharing a bed with Rachel.

When in bed, Rachel climbs on top of Quinn and tries to shove Quinn's hand into her pants.

Abruptly, Rachel is fighting tears, because what on earth was she thinking? If she was alone in the bed she would cover her face with her hands, because good lord, she's embarrassed.

This was not how this evening was supposed to go. Quinn probably thinks she is some kind of sex mad lunatic who actually ignores every word Quinn says and instead does exactly what she wants. Not attractive in the slightest. Hell, Quinn probably only kissed her back out of politeness.

Normally a cringe only lasts for a second, two at tops. Rachel thinks she lies there for a full half hour, cringing at herself and being unable to do anything about it, forcing herself to lie still.

Maybe she's ruined it.

There's a movement, and Quinn's hands touches to her, gently. Rachel tries not to grasp at it, but instead just flexes her fingers, and lets Quinn slide her hand into hers.

And then…nothing. Rachel tries to breath deep, and settle out her heart rate, letting the warmth of Quinn's hand ground her, because people don't willingly hold hands with individuals that they are repulsed by.

Her head still feels woozy, but the pint of water she made herself drink before she came to bed seems to be having an effect, Rachel is less and less struck by the sensation that she is on a rollercoaster.

After an immeasurable amount of time, Quinn's hand squeezes hers, and she rolls onto her side, towards Rachel. The light means that Rachel can see nothing of her expression, just the outline of her shoulder, but she squeezes back, instinctively. Quinn murmurs at a low register, which does something to Rachel.

'Santana's asleep.'

Rachel automatically strains her ears for any audio evidence that this is the case, but all she can hear is steady breathing. Santana does not have the common decency to snore really loudly. She whispers back after a moment.

'Are you sure?'

Quinn nods, and shifts closer into her.

'Mmhmm, I know her breathing when she's asleep.'

Rachel fights the urge to press closer to Quinn's warmth, and uses her free hand to wipe hastily at her face in order to remove any evidence of tears. Quinn catches the movement, and reaches gentle fingers towards her face, tracing over her cheek bone. Rachel closes her eyes, and sighs once.

'Why were you crying?'

Rachel bites her lip, and blinks rapidly at the ceiling.

'Embarrassed. Made a bit of a fool of myself.'

Quinn hums at her, before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

'No. You didn't.'

Then she actually pulls Rachel into a hug, and just holds her, until Rachel relaxes into it, and they both just breathe each other in.

Rachel doesn't need to cry anymore. She readjusts slightly in Quinn's arms, and kisses her forehead. Quinn chases her mouth, before they bump noses, and Quinn presses a steady kiss to Rachel's lips.

'Can we, can we talk about this tomorrow? I want to… I want to do this right.'

It feels like a kiss to her heart, and Rachel just nods, not trusting her words. Quinn kisses her again, and Rachel rearranges into her, turning and shifting until her back is to Quinn's front, and Quinn's chin is resting on her shoulder.

Quinn nuzzles once at her shoulder, before sighing and breathing in deeply, and god, Rachel almost can't take it, she almost starts crying all over again. Instead she reaches for the covers, and moves them up so they are both warm, to Quinn's small hum of approval. Quinn presses slightly at her hip, and Rachel moves back even further, until there is no space and Rachel can feel Quinn's heart beating, inches from her own.

She read somewhere that two hearts in close enough proximity will end up synchronizing to beat in tandem. Rachel always wondered how it was decided which one would choose to adopt the rhythm of the other. She realizes now, with a flash of certain clarity, that surely they both adjust slightly, with each beat, before meeting in the middle somewhere. Surely that is the only thing that would make sense?

Quinn's hand is still resting awkwardly at her hip. Rachel reaches for it, and twists their fingers together, before moving their joined hands until they are pressed to where her heart beats, steady.


	22. Chapter 22

**Thank you again for all the lovely reviews etc :) :) It's pretty overwhelming. Glee have decided to throw a spanner in the works with recent canon events, so let's just say that the _next_ story I write may well be considering the Quinntana aftermath, but in this universe Quinn and Santana definitely haven't hooked up!**

* * *

Wow, okay, Santana was not aware that it was even possible to crick _everything._

After blinking at the ceiling a couple of times, she realizes that someone's alarm has woken her, and the soft sound of moving materials alerts her to the fact that she isn't the only one who is awake.

She announces her return to the waking world gently, in case either Rachel or Quinn are not fully with it yet.

'Fucking hell, I think I broke my spine. Shit. I'm crippled.'

Quinn's head appears from over the edge of the bed, looking down at her with all of her blonde hair entirely lop-sided.

'Pretty sure you haven't, and you aren't, Santana. Trust me.'

Asleep to sarcastic and judgmental in less than ten seconds; Quinn's always been impressive like that. Santana flips her off with a grunt, and pushes herself into a sitting position, all the while expecting something to pop dramatically.

'Okay, so not crippled, but can I just say that your brief vacation into the world of the disabled doesn't mean that you get to shut down all of my potential jokes about cripples for the rest of eternity. That's a rich vein of humor for me, right there.'

Quinn slumps back into the pillows again after a moment.

'How tough for you, not being about to mock the unfortunate.'

Santana frowns at her, and makes like she's about to yank the covers off the bed. Quinn looks horrified for a second, and clutches at them in fear. Santana laughs, and gets to her feet, stretching the kinks in her back out.

'Be nice to the woman who slept on the floor for you, okay, or this woman will pretend to hate the delicious breakfast you're going to cook her… I'm getting in the…'

Santana has already tugged her towel off the hook, when Berry abruptly rises and grabs her overnight bag.

'Shower! I'm going first.'

Seriously? The bathroom door has clicked closed before Santana can protest, and Santana directs her look of outrage at Quinn, for a lack of a better target. Quinn shrugs.

'It's Rachel. Her morning routine must be honored.'

Santana drops her towel, and instead pulls on a sweater.

'Fine. Whatever, although if Berry uses all the hot water I will end her. Come on, up, I'll show you were the eggs are.'

…

* * *

When she is fully dressed, Rachel pads into the kitchen, hoping to be presented with a coffee.

Honestly, for some reason, the thought of Quinn and her, in bed, listening to Santana's frankly terrifying shower, was all a bit too much. Rachel's trying to not get ahead of herself, and exchanging sleepy good mornings in the same bed when they're both still heavy from last night would have been the definition of getting ahead, she thinks.

'Finally!' Santana grumbles at her, before abruptly flinging the dishcloth at her. 'Here, dry up. Quinn, fyi, there's probably only enough water for one more person, so brace yourself for a cold one.'

Quinn's stood by the stove, and just smiles at Rachel for a moment, before gesturing with her elbow at a bowl by her side.

'Hi. Umm, there's some fruit salad there, for you. And I'm just making pancakes, apparently with this recipe you cannot even tell that there's no egg in them, so don't tell Santana that she's going vegan.'

Is this the stuff that dreams are made of? Rachel opts to find cutlery, rather than press Quinn up against the counter, but from the way Quinn's lips quirk up at the corner, maybe the dilemma was clear to see from her body language. The cutlery drawer is right next to Quinn's hip, and Rachel concentrates on the contents like she's performing brain surgery. She's shy.

Quinn kisses her on the cheek.

When Rachel looks at her, startled, Quinn's back to staring at the skillet, a half frown on her forehead. She bites her lip.

'Uh. Sorry. That's… that one just snuck out.'

Rachel cannot imagine a context in which Quinn would ever have to apologise for kissing her while making pancakes, with the possible exception of not kissing her on the mouth, properly. Rachel laughs slightly, and tugs at the hem of Quinn's sweater, mindlessly.

'Forgiven. Um. Not really something I'd ever get angry about, really.'

Quinn glances at her briefly, and smiles at her so warmly Rachel could swear she starts to melt.

'So, are you still okay for talking about this, at some point?'

There's a low hum, which emanates through a couple of walls, as the shower shudders into life. It reminds Rachel of why they can't really talk now. Or, you know, just make out, now.

'Really okay. Very much so. I'm excellent at talking about my emotions, for the record.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at her playfully, and flicks a bit of flour at Rachel, causing her to yelp and step backwards.

'Okay, good, but I'm not quite as skilled, so, you know, don't expect any speeches.'

Rachel brushes flour from herself, mock affronted, and busies herself with the cutlery.

'Says the girl who got into Yale on the basis of her words…'

Quinn hip checks her, and then seems to bite her lip to avoid laughing, instead frowning hard.

'Make yourself useful, Berry, find some plates.'

…

* * *

Santana wasn't lying about the shower not having any more hot water. Quinn feels like she's been chilled through, something at her core refuses to warm up, no matter how vigorously she bobs on her toes.

The platform is busy, always, and Quinn would feel a little adrift, were it not for Rachel standing next to her. Rachel blows into her hands for a moment, before rubbing them together quickly to warm them up. Quinn feels guilty at her suffering.

'You know, I did know the way to the station. And I'm definitely not going to get lost between here and the train. You don't have to wait with me.'

Rachel looks over at her, and then takes a step closer into her side, so she's got half her back to Quinn's front.

'Nonsense; I wanted to stay with you. Also, you don't mind if I use you as a windbreak, do you? It is a bit gusty, here.'

Quinn thinks about disputing being referred to as a windbreak, but instead just leans down to rest her chin on Rachel's shoulder. Rachel sighs, and tips her head slightly, so they're both looking at the as yet inactive train from almost the same perspective.

Quinn clears her throat, hesitantly. 'So, the train should be going in about five minutes. That means I guess I should actually get on with the promised talk I've been referring to.'

Rachel shrugs happily, as if things could be one way or another, she's content enough as it is. Quinn frowns, and pushes on.

'So. Um. Can we, maybe, I don't know, I mean, I'm awful at this sort of thing, I'm not sure I've ever even tried to do this before, but, you know, I thought that given our past few encounters it might be good to maybe, uh, meet up officially. At some point. You and I. To see what happens. To see if, you know.'

Quinn trails off helplessly, and wow, okay, that was certainly not how she'd imagined that moment going.

Rachel reaches for her hand after a moment, and squeezes.

'You know, your articulate nature is one of the many things I find attractive about you.'

Quinn's eyebrows raise, and she grasps for something intelligent sounding.

'Yeah? Um, I mean, uh. Indubitably?'

Rachel snorts, and turns to press a simple kiss to her cheek.

'We should, give this a go, I think. We haven't started in the most healthy way, for reasons mainly linked to my own poor decision making, but… I like you, and I'm attracted to you, and I'm guessing, from your behavior on our… what did you say… _our past few encounters_, that you like me too, so let's see, huh? Let's start simple, and…see.'

Quinn reaches up to cup Rachel's face, and looks deep into her eyes, very seriously.

'Rachel Berry, if you continue to mock me in this uppity manner, I'm afraid I don't hold any great hopes for our long term prospects.'

Rachel blinks, and then laughs at her, slapping in playful outrage at her shoulder and taking a step back.

'You need to get on a train before I reconsider, Quinn Fabray.'

Quinn takes that as her cue, and adjusts her backpack slightly. Greatly daring, she darts forward, and presses a quick kiss to Rachel's lips, lingering for a second.

'Promises promises, Rachel.'

Rachel tries to swat at her again, but Quinn is already dancing away, onto the train.

…

* * *

Brittany isn't leading Wiggle Class when she gets the call. Yeah, she's surprised too.

Instead she's found herself a hammock, and is trying to figure out how she could hang it up in her room.

Maybe if one end went over the coat hook on the back of her door, and… no, wait, that would be she'd be on her ass every time someone walked in. Brittany eyes the smooth surface of her walls, wondering if there is even enough blutack in the entire world for what she has in mind.

Her boob starts buzzing. Brittany jumps, and then fishes her phone out of her bra, glancing at the screen once and then picking up with a grin.

'Hi Rachel! What's up?'

'Brittany, hello. I hope you don't mind but I need to tell someone and I can't very well tell Santana, and Kurt would try and talk me out of it, thinking that he's doing what is best for me, but I really need to tell someone otherwise I will just explode, and I even returned to a coffee shop which had a friendly faced man serving yesterday, but he wasn't there and so I'm trusting you with this but you mustn't tell Santana, okay, because Santana thinks she's talked me into taking a break from relationships for a while.'

Brittany jogs up and down on her toes once, and lifts the corner of the hammock, inspecting the end up close.

'Whoa, okay, Rachel, save some words for the rest of us. Did Quinn, umm, propose?'

Rachel takes a really deep breath as if she's about to confirm that she did, when she stumbles over her answer.

'I, um, what? No, Brittany… but she did ask me out on a date! Or, at least, I think she did? Or maybe I asked her out. I don't really know what happened if I'm honest, but I'm excited and I wanted someone to be excited with!'

Brittany catches her own gaze in the reflection, and rolls her eyes, because how long has this been going on for now? Brittany feels like other people would have had kids by now, not be at first date stage. Could this be any more long winded? Rachel sounds really happy though, and it is catching, so Brittany ends up grinning.

'Aww, yay, Rachel! Um. If you guys do get married can I do a speech at the wedding?'

Rachel answers her very seriously, as if she's worried that Brittany's going to consult her planner and figure out when she will be free for delivering her speech.

'Oh, I'm not sure we're… I don't think we'll be, uh, getting _married_, any time soon, but…'

Brittany's phone beeps at her, and checks her screen.

'Hang on Rachel, I've got another call, let me put you on hold a second, be sure to hum to yourself one of those little on hold tunes, okay… Hi Quinn!'

'Hey Brit… I have some news for you, I guess.'

Oh man, Brittany lives for these moments.

'Is it… wait, let me think… did you manage to awkwardly ask out Rachel, and she said yes, which is super exciting and cool, although filled with slight jeopardy because Santana doesn't know and thinks that the best thing for Rachel to do right now is stay single?'

Brittany can _feel _Quinn squint down the phone at her, it is amazing.

'What, how did you… how did you know all that?'

'Oh, I read minds now. I've been attending night school. But, you know, Santana isn't going to have a problem with you two going out with each other, I'm sure. Maybe a bit of a problem adjusting, but, you know. She'll deal.'

Quinn grunts at her, and then there's a tiny announcement in the background.

'Anyway, I won't stay on, I'm on a train. But, you know, don't tell her. I think we both want to keep this… low key, for a while.'

Brittany shrugs, wondering vaguely if Quinn has any expertise in erecting hammocks.

'You told me, though?'

'Yeah, well, I wanted to tell someone. I trust you.'

'Oh yay, okay, well, bye Quinn. I have to go speak to the other line.'

'Wait, Brittany, who is on the other line? Have you been speaking to Sa-'

Brittany presses the button on her phone, where Rachel is definitely _not_ humming, and oh, that's a disappointment.

'Hi Rach. So you and Quinn are probably going to want to keep things low key, for a while, huh? Less pressure that way. I agree.'

'You, you agree?'

Brittany hunkers down, and tucks the phone between her ear and shoulder, so she can use two arms to lift her hammock onto her bed.

'Oh, yeah, like, super smart plan. I approve. That way at least no one else can mess it up for you. The only people who can mess it up are the two of you, which I guess is kind of likely if we review your respective track records. Incidentally, have you ever erected a hammock?'

There is a small pause, while Rachel digests this, and then she says quietly, 'No. Why?'

Brittany eyes her enormous hammock unhappily.

'Um. No reason.'

…

* * *

Ashleigh is pretty sure that she could plot some kind of scatter graph which would demonstrate a positive correlation between Quinn's happiness and her desire to bake Ashleigh nice things to put in her mouth.

'Ashleigh, those were supposed to be for everyone, stop picking off all the marshmallows.'

Ashleigh inserts an entire brownie into her mouth to make a point, and then tries to talk around it.

'Y'know the theory'bout turnin into what you eat?'

Quinn looks like she doesn't really, but Ashleigh plunges on regardless.

'Well, I'm testing it. See if I turn into a brownie. Possibly the only way in which I could become more delicious.'

Quinn stares at her for a moment, and then slowly removes the brownie tin from arm's reach. She puts the lid on with a click, and places it on the counter behind her.

'Reminder; for everyone.'

Ashleigh waves her hands around to demonstrate that yes, she gets it, before standing up from the stool and brushing some crumbs onto the kitchen floor.

'What's the plan then? For the grand re-arrange?'

Quinn picks up the dish cloth again, and starts wiping surfaces, which already look pretty clean to Ashleigh, but whatever, if Quinn needs to not be looking at her, then that's fine.

'A few days of meetings, need to check in with Student Finance about funding, get my application rubber stamped by my tutor, then it's, well, start looking into accommodation, I guess.'

In the space of one weekend, Quinn has gone from wavering pretty hard about whether or not to staying on in education, to suddenly being definite. And seeing as this decision making happened during a weekend spent in Brooklyn, the link would seem pretty obvious.

'Did you and 'suddenly single' Rachel reach some kind of resolution, then? Please be aware that I already know that the answer is yes, okay? I'm just fishing for details.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at Ashleigh while smiling, and then shrugs.

'We thought we'd…you know. Try. Go on a date maybe? Keeping things… low pressure, right now. For all I know she could be rebounding, and for all she knows I could be, well, crap at relationships.'

Ashleigh has never heard such a downbeat announcement about a possible new relationship.

'Wow Quinn, the optimism is just oozing off you… for the record I think probably everyone knows you haven't got mad skills on the dating front for lack of experience, so Rachel's going in eyes open, there. Just, be yourself though, you aren't a total fuck up.'

'Thanks Ashleigh, that's reassuring.'

Ashleigh snorts after a second, and takes a couple of steps closer. 'What happened to the _'I'll fuck up and lose her'_ attitude? Is this personal growth, I spy before me?'

Quinn shrugs, and smiles at her.

'Hardly. I just… I guess things have gotten too far now to do anything other than try and hope for the best. So I might as well enjoy, and hope I can make it work, you know. Death or glory, that old adage. I'll just hope for glory.'

Frowning, Ashleigh wonders how hard it would be to side step Quinn to get to the brownies.

'Pretty sure that even you aren't capable of fucking up on such a momentous scale that this results in death, Quinn. Go with it. Enjoy it. _Embrace _it. Live life to the full. Dance as if no one is watching. Make out with pretty girls. Can I have another brownie? As a reward for all this helpful advice?'

Quinn rolls her eyes, and picks up the tin, handing it over.

'Seriously. Leave at least one each for everyone else. I'm going to go call Rachel; do not start playing weird romantic music outside my door like last time; it could have been my mom.'

'Yeah yeah, just trying to, you know, ease true love's course, gratitude would be nice. Off you go then. Tell her I said hi. Try not to die.'

…

* * *

Rachel gets a phone call, late that evening.

'Hello?'

'Hi… uh, I wanted to send a text, but then I thought that I've been doing a lot of that lately, and it would be a cop out.'

Rachel sits up in her bed, and tugs her comforter up around her.

'But, you know I like your messages. Please don't stop.'

Quinn huffs at her a little, as if Rachel is being _unhelpful_, somehow, and mumbles 'yes, well, I won't stop with those, but I thought I'd, you know, mix it up a little.'

Rachel grins at her wardrobe, because she needs to grin at something, and shifts backwards onto her pillows, stretching her legs out.

'Okay, well, I'm excited! Speak.'

Quinn clears her throat, and then sighs a little.

'You are making this quite awkward, you know. I don't have… an announcement, or anything. I just wanted to say hi. And, um. Good luck. For Friday. I don't think I said it properly.'

Rachel frowns briefly, and tries to think back.

'I'm pretty sure you did, actually. A few times. I am very grateful.'

'I… okay then. I… jeez Rachel, I'm just using it as an excuse to call you, can you not, like, interrogate everything please?'

Rachel laughs into her hand for a second, and then composes herself.

'Okay, sorry, uh… tell me what you did today.'

There's a pause, and then when Quinn speaks Rachel can tell she is grinning.

'Well, this morning I woke up next to this girl who snores like a chainsaw, and then…'

'Quinn!'

…

* * *

Kurt isn't depressed; he's not. Depression is not something that develops because one sole dynamic in his otherwise busy and glamorous city life alters.

He guesses he just didn't realize how much he enjoyed Brody's company. How he liked having a friend who wasn't a girl or a potential love interest, who could be relied upon to pop up every few days or so without any extra effort on Kurt's part. It was like having another room mate.

He is not going to let it get to him; Kurt is a supportive friend and ultimately Rachel is confident that she made the correct decision, and so he has to stick with that, and maybe try and make a new straight friend.

Kurt rolls his eyes at his own thought process, and checks his outfit in the mirror. This isn't high school. He doesn't need to make elaborate plans on how to make friends. That sort of thing is supposed to just happen.

'Rachel… what do you think of my new jacket?'

Kurt swings himself into their living room, where Rachel is sprawled out on their couch, looking relaxed and flicking through a magazine. She sits up and eyes him appraisingly.

'Love it, that color is… what kind of material is it, come here… ooh, yes. Love it. Wear it forever.'

Kurt runs his hands down the sides of it, and performs a small twirl, before perching on the arm of the couch, so as not to crease anything.

'You all set for tomorrow? Need to… I don't know, sing at me, so I can tell you that you are flawless?'

Rachel grins happily at him, and goes back to her magazine.

'Thank you, but no, I'm already confident on that front… I've got a good feeling, you know? I'm trying to trust my instincts.'

Kurt rarely feels the need to trust his instincts, because brains are for _thinking_ not instincts, and this isn't the Serengeti, as far as he is aware, but whatever works for Rachel. He does, however, have a topic of conversation that he has been trying to introduce for a while, and this feels as good a time as any.

'Santana tells me that you are staying single for a while, huh? What's the deal with that?'

Rachel, if this were possible, seems to redouble her focus on the magazine.

'Oh, I wish Santana would find something other to talk about than the love lives of all of her friends… she thinks I get too caught up in things. Romantically. Which is a complete lie. I'm very understated about things, as you know.'

Kurt barely restraints the snort of disbelief that his body produces in response to that statement, but when he catches Rachel sneaking a glance at him he realizes he doesn't have to, and just laughs. Rachel joins in after a moment, and pokes a toe at him, trying to send him off the edge of the couch.

'You love it Hummel. Think how boring things would have been without all the drama.'

Kurt just smiles, because let's face it, things haven't been dull, recently. He asks the question that has been eating at him.

'Rachel… how would you feel about me trying to get in touch with Brody? I mean, I don't even know if he'll want to speak to me, but… I liked having him around, I guess.'

Rachel smiles up at him, and then sits up and throws her arms around his waist to hug him, paying no regard to his jacket. Repressing the instinct to fight her off, Kurt pets at her hair, as Rachel speaks into his chest.

'You are so funny Kurt… is that what you've been worrying about? You know that Brody does actually like you? He didn't just speak to you because you were there.'

Kurt rolls his eyes a little, unseen, but appreciates the gesture regardless.

'Good lord Rachel, my sense of self-worth isn't that low… I just thought that maybe he'd feel betrayed by me, maybe, for keeping secrets.'

Rachel squeezes once more, and leans back to look up at him.

'You didn't do anything wrong Kurt. And Brody knows that. Although if you are concerned that he is unsure I could possibly try to contact him on your behalf and re-emphasize your lack of involvement and awareness in my misdemeanors.'

Kurt laughs at her, and stands, waving the rest of her thoughts on the matter away.

'No thanks Rachel, I'm pretty sure I can organize this one myself… so am I to pretend that I believe that things are all quiet in your love life at the moment?'

Rachel grins guiltily at him, and Kurt can't help but feel a push of warmth towards her, because her moods are infectious, and the happiness is just radiating off her.

'If you wouldn't mind…?'

Kurt wanders over to the kitchen, checking the fridge to see if anything delicious is lurking.

'And I'd imagine that things are equally quiet in Quinn's love life, right now, no?'

Rachel rolls her eyes at him, and picks up her phone, cradling it to her chest as she lies down again.

'You'd be amazed, Kurt.'

The thing is, what with one thing and another, he actually is.

…


End file.
